Flock of Swifts

A FLOCK OF SWIFTS

A flock of spine-tailed swifts
swarms and drifts,
distant black wings on the blue,
predusk, summer sky.

They glide; they rise so high;
they roam their boundless realm:
the free, ethereal
empires of air.

Visitants, voyagers on vastness,
they travel through the distant
kingdoms of the winds,
countries of the clouds.

With such a seeming ease,
they soar and swoop;
they wheel and fly;
they skim the sky.

They ride world breath-
no passports stamped for them
when they departed from
the far coasts of Japan.

With wings on wind, they span
the weather's current world;
they range the airy streams;
the rivers of the heavens:-

like thought's far vision,
swift, spirit seeing,
aware of world's vastness, aware
of boundlessness of being.