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Black Birds

Black Birds

Black Birds

 

The grackles 
are returned to this 
stretch of eastern shore, 
nesting now in the aged lush 
of hedgerowed 
yews.
 
Starlings 
too, have arrived,
feeding voraciously,
squabbling as furiously,
over the plenty 
offered in 
bowls—
odd,
this.
 
For 
on wing it's
another story,
a magical story,
taking to air 
cohered
extrasensorily
pitching and darting,
seemingly seamlessly
responding one to another
— body, mind, spirit —
one consciousness
rising, rising,  
spilling 
and pooling,
a vast corps de ballet,
shoals blooming, 
unblooming, 
wheeling 
the wild blue 
in such concert, 
 painting synchrony
in great murmurating 
mesmerizations, 
dark clouds 
gathering 
to slake
earth’s
deep
thirst
 
to 
make
beauty
out of
thin
air.
  
Heavenly, 
this art of work
showing me what I 
could not see so clearly before: 
myself, my kind, our bind
in this unbecoming, 
becoming 
whole. 
 
A gift 
freely given 
as they simply make 
and unmake 
their way.
 
I once saw 
only the dark of you, 
I am loth to admit, through 
the trained lens of classification 
rather than dilation,
blackbird.
 
Now I see 
your stars, starling, 
spectrums blazing an oasis of night, 
refractions of spangled brilliance 
your feathered silks
cast on my 
willing 
gaze.
 
I find
turquoise
of your crown
now grackle, bright
gold of eye piercing worlds I can
only imagine, purples splayed with bronze, 
emeralds gleam hidden 
in the gloss of your
plumes sparked 
by a stray 
glint
of sun.
 
You 
are not
merely 
black 
birds.
 
You 
sheen
rainbows
of wonder
— revelation —
now I see you 
in the light 
of this 
day.
 
You are
heralds,
emissaries
of a new
peace
with
the
dark
that lies
waiting to
be seen
 
anew
 
For 
god lies
somewhere
under
your 
rainbows.
 
…Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night...
—Paul McCartney, John Lennon
 
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all…
—Emily Dickinson

*

© 2020 by Eve Moore.
© Photo by Arnold Edwards.

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well. 

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.


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