Silent the birds fly
Their dappled bodies blackened
In silhouette
Against the cold air
As they weave their way
Through the blue,
Through the white,
Like counters on a board
Searching for the draught
That will pull them through
Lift them up
To soar,
Silent beaks and
Silent wings
Their presence lost amongst the flock
Awareness isn’t theirs
To be lost and found within the fold
To hold eternity in the beat
Of a wing
Or a prayer
As they glide-mark the sky
Trailing blue,
Trailing white,
In their wake.
chrisnelson61 