They sit perched on a phone wire
little Hitchcocks with
round black bellies.
Evenly spaced, as if the First Grade
teacher had told them, “Put one wing
between you and your neighbor.”
As a group they reach up to the sky,
invisible lines tethering them into a bird net
still perfectly spaced, but now in motion
pulsing like a wave on an oscilloscope.
Every time I see it
I stare and wonder—
wonder what worlds and lives there are—
worlds and lives and grace and beauty
and life and death
that I shall never be a part of.
That I shall ever only stand and behold.