Poetry
Gone
A Zeno
I can’t feel your murmuration.
I can’t be your
starling.
Though
your hawk eyes hold
my shape,
low
in oak’s shade, just
dry leaves
blow.
When we drive through the valley where rice fields are flooded and large flocks of birds live, sometimes in the early evening we are treated to these amazing flocks of birds swooping and soaring, creating changing shapes in the sky. It is an amazing and mesmerizing sight.
I only recently found out that these birds are starlings, and that the flock flying together is called a murmuration. It comes from the sound their wings make when they fly. It resembles the rush of a giant wave. It’s so beautiful. I like the way the word murmuration sounds so I had to use it in a poem. I hope you enjoy it.
Here are three haikus from Portia that I really enjoyed! I think you will too! :)
