Maybe from below as I gaze up straight the flock washes overhead, chilly air coming to life with the electric wind of wings. Is it not the same with us? I marvel at the brilliant red of their breasts streaking by in countless similarity.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
As a Flock of Robins
Perhaps as a flock of robins emerges from the golden leaves of the autumn vineyard, their airborne bodies fleck the sky. Dark at a distance, ashen forms follow my eyes dis- and re- assembling.
Maybe from below as I gaze up straight the flock washes overhead, chilly air coming to life with the electric wind of wings. Is it not the same with us? I marvel at the brilliant red of their breasts streaking by in countless similarity.
Maybe from below as I gaze up straight the flock washes overhead, chilly air coming to life with the electric wind of wings. Is it not the same with us? I marvel at the brilliant red of their breasts streaking by in countless similarity.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment