Poem : Starlings
The first time was the sexy one
as hand in warm hand we huddled
on a bench,
while the flurrying flock
flew patterns in
swirls
on the spotted sky behind,
enhancing romance
as I turned my face
back and kissed you again;
a deliberate moment of dusk
and starlings and a saucy snogette.
Months later, on the pier, it was dusk again
and the swirling swarm in myriads above
- sweeping apart in synchronous sudden
switches,
then merging as millions into one and making fools of fighter
pilots with the aerial joyful grace
that nobody taught them;
then settle to the roost under
boards above the night-tossed waves.
The sudden SPLATS! Those little harmless
white
wet
bombs! were fine. They made us laugh;
the birds that live what we cannot know:
the currents of the sky
the endless map of the earth
and the freedom of the wind
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