I came across today’s poem without the author’s name attached. I read it halfway through and just knew it had to be by Mary Oliver. Her style is so recognizable and beautiful. I have shared a lot of her poems over the last few years but I have actually exercised great self-restraint. There are dozens and dozens more I would love to use. Chunky and noisy, but with stars in their black feathers, they spring from the telephone wire and instantly they are acrobats in the freezing wind. And now, in the theater of air, they swing over buildings, dipping and rising; they float like one stippled star that opens,…