In Flight (a poem)

Starlings

in flight,

     the rising,

     the falling;

     the crescendo,

     the decrescendo;

     the ebb,

     the flow.

Winged

artists,

aerial 

dancers,

poetry

in motion. 

The sky,

     your canvas;

the horizon,

     your playground. 

Gliding

beautifully,

individually,

on currents

of wind

together

in unity,

     not unison,

creating shapes 

never imagined. 

Moving 

forward,

     always forward,

toward

the next

resting place

together.

  — bshivers