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Migration

October 17, 2012

Black birds

perched on black phone lines and

black power lines and

black roofs of my neighbors and

my neighbors’ neighbors

but not on my roof.

Starlings maybe,

or swallows,

watching, waiting

until a mummuration

a sussuration of wings

and with eyes only for the wind

and instincts sending them

further,

further

not far enough yet.

They swoop away, showing off their skill and their numbers and their

incredible lightness

and nothing remains except

abandoned wires and roofs and

a faint panic rising in my chest.

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