Murmuration
A poem
Wings drumming to greet the dusk, they rise in rapid succession,
wings beating, sounding like pianissimo thundering
as wings flap in flight ascending, arcing, moving, dancing,
to their joint rhythm in the sky, but not traveling
No distance flown, but like choreography they shift,
shape-changing, moving in an unheard harmony,
thousands of Starlings shifting in the air, arcing,
sequences, shape-making in unison, unified, unpent
Expressions of joyous exultation, winding, weaving, wind-borne
birds beating wings like mute percussion, moving, molding,
shaping, swooping, exhilaration, exuberance, enjoyment, escalating,
graceful gliding on thermals mortals do not perceive
Pulling like magnets drawn together and repelled again
an orchestration of starlings in murmuration,
a language of worship and liberty, voiceless intuition
gracing the evening, a thunderous applause
For the dying day.
