the Jesus Bird

I saw the Jesus bird
alone on a fence
overlooking the freeway
on a dry afternoon in autumn
I saw the Jesus bird
at dusk
on a light pole
watching the commuters
wander down from the station
in the dark with the others
I saw the Jesus bird
silhouetted against
a dirty orange moon that hung
crucified and flayed
on a vast black cross
looking down on begging
empty spaces in the market
where cold sleeping ducks
bills buried in
feathered shadow
saw nothing

But I heard the Jesus bird
singing in black
trees of solitude
while men and boys cut
through cold white mist like
fighting soldiers under
artificial suns

And the modern neanderthal
calling our fragile existence
a miracle
sat hunched over flickering
screens and packaged nourishment
in his artificial cave
While the Jesus bird
sits lower than him on the food chain

I didn't see the Jesus bird
he took refuge from the knight
but reappeared the next day
under fluorescent swords
in the eyes of a little girl
who said thank you at the supermarket