Thursday, 20 February 2014
In search of murmur, murmuration,
Winter fever of the starling nation;
The shade-shadow flutter,
The crepuscular corpuscle.
We follow the marsh light luck track then
Further into the feathered fen;
Sight lines to familiar woods
Lost in time & dim distances.
Lost in Winter’s silences
& saw rasp of the leaf edge hiss;
The wind writes cursive script upon the pool
Where the hooded heron is stalking eels.
The mass of voice wave rushes over,
A softly roaring dark frost flower;
A thousand eye-wings in the wave,
Knitting threads of many voices.
Nested parabolas of flight,
Flutter vector star winged light;
The wild host, the number storm;
Whip lash accumulation of life force.
You feel their presence as they turn
& gloaming skies begin to burn
As Winter’s ravaged sun descends,
So do the birds, into the reed-refuge.
Some day we will be dead & gone
But let us pray that this will go on;
The great gathering of the starling swirl,
The murmur, the murmuration.