somewhere in this moist greyness
black gathers
ripe red clipping
clapping
flapping – flipping

black calls out
barking
bickering
flickering flame red about

black flashes forward
to snatch at
scratch at
crushed crumbs

clicking coal hard beaks as
black streaks
into the hands of sycamores
shiny with rain
dangling seeds

oh, the lovely
thin fingers
that fetch the wind
and catch the wing

sing!

as black
lifts and lands
drifts and stands
shifts its blood bright bands