A Fall of Starlings
Published in
Sep 23, 2023
Not from stars at all
They fold their wings in our trees now
A vast clamor of voices shepherding
Them through autumn
In the liminal summer space between
Dawn and dusk they lived only for their young
In a new season they are finished with
Breeding and brooding — they abandon isolation as
Their frenetic senses meld
Them into a single organism
Disparate but taking flight as
A vaporous cloud, a flickering mind
An immense murmuration curves
A liquid arc into the cooling, bright air
A pulsing ocean dappling the ground with
All these shadows of dark birds
I’ll make pancakes with honey this fall
Leave the ones I don’t eat outside
To be descended upon, devoured into
Tiny pieces, one for each, and not alone at all
…
