A Bird in the Sky

Soaring through grim waves
and concrete tower blocks,
dancing in the pristine light,
of cold winter’s glare.
While a notion of stamping feet
rushes on the ground,
a busy anywhere hum
with a meaning that escapes me.
But higher than that,
than all of it,
still dipping in the wind,
carving the breeze, with a deft precision,
like a bow turning in the sky,
the shadow of a sharpened tail
diving in and out of reason.
And the faded colour of nameless faces
and the wordless drone of stuck-together sound
melts, into a vacuum silence,
of pristine quality.
As the long wings whip elegantly,
against a crystal blue screen,
tracing lines of the most beautiful poetry
in the still and breathless air,
and glide playfully through
monuments of awkward jutting grey,
teasing the uneasy canvas of each sullen brick,
whose heads seem to bow,
to an unspoken recognition.
And in the hollow glass stillness
of the earth’s frozen breath,
the world turns.