Blackbird fly

 

I stop when wings whisper above me.
I look up I follow flight. I follow acrobats
through trees, I follow their color flash
and song stutter as they swing from branch
to eaves, rooftops. I lean back and
watch as the mockingbird and jay rise
high in the pine and meet the morning sun.
Sparrows bicker and Cardinals titter. A long
rope of blackbirds passes over me, one
minute, two, three and then four, five before
they clear, over the trees and gone.