Poem 71

when thousands of starlings come together in one spot to swap migration war stories
They brought with them the sound of the air
wrapping the light in their wings like a veil faced widow
over and under from inside the dampness the sea cackles them to life.
What horizon spitting out buzz burdened insects, claps hands
again towards the peak as if escaping from needles? The fabric of the sky crinkles, curls, cuts
a face; the light milky irises, the Cyclops sky blinks with birds.
Coiling about themselves a helix, thrown into the air, one’s regretful words:
they glide, catching a fellow’s wing with a beak or a claw.
Lifting bones and down when caught themselves with another’s unsympathetic bladed talon.
Wheezing in the claustrophobia of networks; coughing up the choreography of instinct.
Animism wrought need: chemistry, history gnawing at the feather stems until all of them an airborne, coiling flailing, sailing, soot-colored nimbus. 

Please Join the Conversation

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s