Painting by Cathleen Cohen.
Murmuration
Have you ever witnessed starlings
swirl above landscape,
scattering souls over
pale, winter grasses
in cramped, suburban yards
like mine? The shock
might wobble your heart.
I stare as a thousand tiny birds
slant toward sunlight,
mimic roofs and branches,
bloom into clouds
and blessings.
They spread like open fingers
spelling out questions
then contract
into a line, a siphon into
breath. Pause.
I pray they’ll soon reappear
above another landscape.
Although I’m not a scribe,
I stay up all night to paint
what I recall – traces.
