FLOOR  PLAN JOURNAL

 

                        Murmuration

 

   

Those birds move in one organ

and the eye is another.

The flock swells into a great, brief

architecture. Naked tree

goes inside to pray. In

evening. In spirelight. In, all you

looking for order.

Furls like a hand rounding

some other’s wrist, softly.

In thousands, what myth—

what trick of the light.