The sense of a city

On 5 November 2006, the International Herald Tribune carried an article entitled "Helping a city stay spic and span," on the volunteers who have been culling crows in Singapore, some for as many as 2o years. According to the article, crows cluster near the Somerset subway station in the heart of the city and find sanctuary in shopping areas like Orchard Road, that are off-limits to men with guns as "the risk of cracking a window is very high".

These are our magi, the men
who with their hands can make the sky
go dark with wings and feathers,
vortex of claws and cackles,
fear mixed with tremulous flight.

These are the magi who renew this city,
cleanse its earth and bless its skies,
whose war is never done:
cycles of ceremonious dispensation
that can only stay the terrible tide

of darkness. And even these our magi
cannot work their craft in the city's heart --
a city of glass, mute, shivering, stark and
mocking, stubbornly resistant
to the radical re-interpretation of magic.

What happens if we melt the glass away?
What happens if we push and shove
and clap our hands to try and wound the glass
to create a space for magic
and the spontaneous lifting of hands

in surprised praise and supplication,
the tremulous poise of an uncertain city --
city of glass, city of magi,
city of birds whose encircling flight
reminds us of our own?

6 December 2006