Obsidian-eyed, she wheels

and flits past pitted bumpers

through the monotones of engine blocks

and peeling limousines; lights pertly,

preens, then on a delicate flexed wing

sideslips precisely like a

seamstress threading a needle.

A breath; she banks; is gone.

So others who seem weathered gray

may strike a second’s rustproof

pose, or flash an instant’s covert

whites. It’s accidental grace

that gleams -- reprising

what’s been lost, what won.