Plague birds, exquisite and focused,

who scavenged Shakepeare’s unspeakable

streets, they have drifted back

from the borderlands of extinction

on tense, splayed wings. 

 

Circling soundlessly

in the rinsed clarity of spring light

they have staked their claim

to limitless acres above

the Chilterns’ wooded heights.

 

And was it months, or even a year,

my own dreams of flying

took possession of sleep,

making something of nothing

in gaps between the days?

 

– My free falls and soaring

seeming purposeless, inspired,

until, ceasing, they left me earthbound,

trying to keep my eyes

on this twisting road.

 

 

First published in The North 2014.