The Grackles at Sunset
To be there when they first arrive—grackles--
thousands of them in the brown stretch of grass
between rough barked pecans.
They crowd this wide space with a glistening ruckus.
They take rude turns, push and shove at the birdbath.
Opening their wings the flock rises, falls
rises again like a broad speckled sheet
lifted and shook then smoothed across the field.
In the near distance is a greater flock.
How I wish it would come closer to me here watching
this shifting stippled cloud streaming
through the easement beyond the fence.
To be there when they arrive—a noisy electrified mass--
is to vanish, the self, I mean,
And every mean thought pushed aside
by their singular purpose in being.
(published in The Painted Door Opened, copyright 2014, Carolyn Dahl and Carolyn Florek, Cardinal Press)