in silence we watched the storm of birds
stitch the tattered sky together
as the sun slid down behind the hills
stars shone through the spaces they had missed
bird
Cromarty 12/08 (2)
Dolphins flip backwards
Gannets plunge beyond the seals
Voices ring from rigs
Clouds beyond clouds
clouds beyond clouds
charcoal layers far horizon
pewter smeared across, an artist’s chalk
birdsong breaking silence
Canonmills, March
Spring snow on blossom
Hunched herons fix swift ripples
The stone bridge remains
Bus stop, Sunday morning
The bus shelter must have been hosed down afterwards. Frosted ferns spread across the clouded walls. Thinned-rust ice dribbles meaninglessly down to the gutter. People frown at the sooted lamppost then see the torn blue tape. A robin cocks its head, challenging our gaze.
The bird quacked
As I walked through the low doorway, a bird quacked. I looked down and hit my head. The bird looked up. “Me,” it quacked again.
Sometimes spelling is important
Sometimes spelling is important, thought Ringo in his afterlife, rolling dung into a ball. The bird locked up for stealing nodded and pecked.
The cloud of starlings
The cloud of starlings smudges
the bare-branched silhouettes.
Patiently,
again,
Hu wipes his finger on the charcoal.
He smiles.
