They landed in the eucalypts, folding up
their wings,
bobbed like small miracles on those thin
branch tips.
When two black crows sat among them they
didn’t mind.
Talk went on with endless anecdotes and
screeched jokes.
The crows managed a laugh and a harmless
smoker’s cough.
No Halleluiahs and no Amens—it was their
weekend off.
When I walked out under them they lifted
like a choir
into the blue until it flickered white with
the host of them.
They know their business is really
elsewhere and their visit
today is our reminder that even when there
is no life
life goes on. It might be some foreign
feathery heaven
we find ourselves in, obliged to speak the
tongues of prophets,
sorcerers and sybils for a new age of
bewilderment. They
stripped the trees of hope and left us
walking on their litter.
imaginative AND naturalistic... nice one. You're on fire
ReplyDeleteWow, again!
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