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