A poem for your Monday

[phoenix64]

November Waxwings

I watch the waxwings
In front of the library
They take off into the air
In their murmuration
Inviolable and entire in the way they move
Sometimes to chase off a larger bird
Even one that was minding its own business
Sometimes for reasons I know nothing about
But then sometimes
They rise higher
Further and further
Up
Their formation
Coming      apart
Rising
                                     so far
so small

looking

like
                   ashes

floating

But eventually
They come back down
They come together again
Looking like something knitting itself together again
Looking like something healing

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