Starlings in Rome, November 2022

Great waves of birds rise up and fly
Vast sweeping cresting Brownian sines,
Whirl and then swerve, huge curving lines,
Prodigious, filling twilight sky.

Each bridge is named and bears a date,
The river echoes every light
And glimmers on the edge of night,
Trees, towers, a dome, all poised in wait.

Though birds were always augury,
Nobody stops or makes a fuss,
Though rivers mark a boundary
Nobody seems to pause but us.
Did murmurations circle free
In all the years since Romulus?

25th May 2023