It's high time we chase
nickel-sweet warblers
into chasms opening -
fell swoops of them will clatter us
a charnel tune for dancing.
We chase the whole flocking lot
into yawning voids echoing,
noting in passing certain patterns
long ago reticulated beneath our feet,
for leading the unready to unembodied
shuffling in a cloddish clumping.
The stir of willow branches downcast
above unfortunates who dance,
and above dancers and among branches
zip unchastened birds, marking
dizzy flight lines
in four dimensions.
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