286 – A Murmuration

Poem number 286
A Murmuration
Up and down and left and right
The starlings fly, a sheer delight
Of perfect synchronicity
A moving mass of ebony
Across the field and back again
A thousand thousand, times by ten
A million birds, a single thought
Or instinct, known but never taught,
Malevolent, perhaps, benign
What motives lie beneath the lines
Of black that carve the evening air
The starlings know, I do not care
They sweep, they swoop, they plunge, they fly
A murmuration in the sky.


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