Sciamachy

Ever see Spring ghost birds on a dirty window? A seasonal offering.
Some religious overtones, you atheists will find this objectionable.
;8^P

PS: This one's for you, Julianne Heckert !

Sciamachy

There is birdsong in my ear and heart
  for a Spring compline on this sunset porch,
With storm windows still in place,
  susurrounded by an avian consort of Joyful grace

Oh!
There the glass, bright angels glow,
  of prizm rainbows distilling the suns repose,
They are Illuminati Doves of golden phoenix fire,
  tindered by the glitter dust of a pane not Spring cleaned
The feathers they bear, each drawn out,
  I can count them each a one,
United as two fans bound round an indivisible heart,
  in brushed gilt masterfully drawn
By they whose beatified old brushes
  do color Nature’s own Church panes

Oh fear,
Was Gabriel denied? Impeded in his speed?
  am I not to hear his edifying news?
Or has Raphael been blocked,
  in a crash collision with his impression,
Then to flutter off dazed, shocked,
  half cocked in the afternoon rain,
Never to baptize me to his creed?

Pine trees bend in piety to the wind,
  as

I turn behind me at a thump,
  and spark eyed wing wide talons bared
Is that bird who once
  my dreaming compline cantor was,
Now clawing in rage to cut
  an invisible rivals throat upon the storm window

He perches on a branch to see
  not me, but his adversary,
And flies once more in anger to test
  whether he or his reflection,
By might or flight, will this day best