Starlings

starlings

They grew like Rorschach ink blots, bursting open, then colliding,
As we watched them from the fields multiplying and dividing,
Forming patterns on the bellies of the clouds, a sea of dark
That kept expanding and contracting, ripping all the sky apart.
And then one hundred thousand starlings filled the air and over-spilled,
A multitude of savage, beating wings that echoed round the hills,
All spinning, wheeling, thumping noisily, one massive winding sheet,
That with their sudden, swift descent had folded up into a pleat,
A twisting funnel built of falling birds. The cloudburst slowly paled.
The night deflated. In the silence, now, the watchers all exhaled.

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