The birds flying
In hour glass shapes
Through the sky.
Hawks,
Soaring,
Crossing paths.
Three, I think,
And not a single wing flapping.
The crows around
Flap their wings.
Not the hawks
Just the crows.

I’ve heard that they caw
But I don’t hear
That they caw.
Maybe they fear the hawks.
So they bring silence.
Silent crows
Still wary of the predators
In their midst
Beating their wings
And moving, jerking
Dancing, darting.
They seem
So anxious,
But the hawks
Keep flying.
Not away,
But into infinity
With only one beat
Of their wings.

Chop Chop
So loud –
Chop Chop
Forced to stop staring
Now I’m only hearing
Hearing the machine
SCREAMING at the birds
At the hawks.
Something heavy
Doesn’t belong with the predators
It stumbles in the air
Crashing through the birds,
So they all dart away
Beating their wings,
Silently screaming back
Even the hawks.

Something falls
Out of the sky
The machine limps away
The hawks begin to circle
Two now, I think.
The crows begin to caw.