Three stories above the mall fountain,
beyond the plants and the palms,
there is a segmented glass dome,
whose ribs descend to form,
if only in one's mind,
an elongated cage,
a setting better suited for canaries
than for the band of strayed sparrows
that have found this space
and now scurry for crumbs
on the floor of the coffee bar,
warily dart into the fountain
and through the greenery,
then up, up to the dome
to see the sky.
ZTC