Tuesday, April 26, 2016

#109 Kevin Brophy ‘They arrived today’

They landed in the eucalypts, folding up their wings,
bobbed like small miracles on those thin branch tips.
When two black crows sat among them they didn’t mind.
Talk went on with endless anecdotes and screeched jokes.
The crows managed a laugh and a harmless smoker’s cough.
No Halleluiahs and no Amens—it was their weekend off.
When I walked out under them they lifted like a choir
into the blue until it flickered white with the host of them.
They know their business is really elsewhere and their visit
today is our reminder that even when there is no life
life goes on. It might be some foreign feathery heaven
we find ourselves in, obliged to speak the tongues of prophets,
sorcerers and sybils for a new age of bewilderment. They

stripped the trees of hope and left us walking on their litter.

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