Thursday, June 17, 2021

Birds on the Wire

The birds on the wire
on this late fall evening
of orange and purple
know a thing or two

about musical composition,
with their constant liftoffs
and returns to the black clef of wires
against the dark blue vellum of sky.

Half notes and quarters
jump and trade places
and leave forever
or swoop back for encores,

black notes of a symphony
dictated by some ancient cadence,
some thrumming rhythm
in a brain the size of a pea.

And who conducts their wings,
their brushes with the muse
as the day dies with such lovely melody?
High above, dressed in a black tux,

he leans down and gives the air
one final swipe with his baton
and then bows, cloaked by the air.
It’s how the world will end one day,

a final movement with apocalyptic flair.
The sparrows know this of course.
They were sworn to a secrecy
of feathered brotherhood

long before the trumpets
were scheduled to judge and blare.

~William Hammett

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