7 pm is New York time
a neighbor flying the hammer and sickle
a blond wig and a kimono
a hand fan fanning away the sparrow from the shedding tree’s green branches
a squirrel and a bluejay playing tag
(if you look long enough the alley is a jungle)
6:58 is when I strain my ears
for the voices with no sources
and the portable speaker on the fifth floor; second window from the right across the new construction site
blasting Billy Joel and Frank Sinatra