The Starlings

If there were no stars to say something of the coming

weather,

No quarter moon to see by,

The starlings would not go south but shiver like water in

the tall trees,

Their eyes narrowed on the wind a cloud follows.

Refusing the fog and the rain ticking against the leaves,

They would ladder the branches of grey light

Until snow fell, and they fell, their feet raised

And showing through the white, twigs to grow a new

year.