Murmurations

Murmurations


Walking, half a block before my bus stop,
  A woman, near my age,
Head crooked looking to night-hood,
  Where by I stopped and watched

  “What d’jou see?”
  “It’s that cloud, among the sky, swirling round?”

Above us swam a spinning mass, as much
  A scribble, a pen’s crossing out,
Rolling forward, tail erasing,
  A windless tornado, a black cotton candy,
  All spun in the dusk,
Its pixels a dense winged smoke,
  They were birds

“They’re Starlings,” I said, “European, introduced,
  They come from Europe, Mozart had one,
  The bird would sing back his recitations”

They squeaked a rusty magic high above us,
  Mass chattings, their cacophony of love,
  (or perhaps “Migrate, migrate, migrate,” it coming on Fall)
Some forward, teasing others nowhere,
  Those behind, trying to cut up the arc before them,
None arriving anywhere first,
  None remaining anywhere last

After a moment she walked on up the street,
  I turned on down to catch my bus home,
She did not dart back like the birds, teasing me,
  I did not cut up into the arc before her, courting wise,
I thought she was nice, I scribbled her out,
  I whistled a song she never heard

We each went home, I’ve not seen her again

Murmurations pas de deux,
  Love flies above on Starlings' wings