A Poem for a Thursday #318

I had a bit of trouble picking a poem for today. That is not because I couldn’t find one I like, but because I can’t keep track of which ones I have featured. Three hundred and eighteen poems is a lot of poems. I finally settled on one by Barbara Crooker. I have featured her before but I did a search and I haven’t used this poem. It is such a lovely picture of a November day.

Cold morning, November, taking a walk,
when up ahead, suddenly, the trees
unleave,
and thousands of starlings lift off, an
immense
river of noise; they braid and unbraid
themselves
over my head, the gray silk sky
embroidered
with black kisses, the whoosh of their
wings,
their chattering clatter, patterns
broken/formed/
reformed, a scarf of ragged ribbons.
Dumb—
struck, mouth open, I say holy and I say
moley,
and then, they're gone.

Murmuration
Barbara Crooker