3  What the birds tell us


Random disturbances blot out that light
As clouds or birds, spray
As good as filling the air

What does remain? In this
Abandoned in a waste of grass
Jackdaws, seamews, even sparrows

Fighting till the last, tearing
At the scraps of what
Is only at the end appetite

Maybe habit. Closed off
As the clouds build up black
Bird cries wake us in the morning