This red doll’s hand on secondary’s pure
tip—gray-silk feather suddenly turning
to fingers grafted from bright waxed sculpture—
provides the noun. Birds’ streaked black masks yearning
for mystery and romance, high-pitched lilt
calling for all to See! Aggressive as
mobs, they flood—not in flocks—but swarms, yet build
nests via pairs, court with flower petals
and insects passed back and forth. Have you seen
them form a twig column for hard-to-reach
berries? Pass them beak to beak, assuring
each team member eats? Just how do they teach
that? See them sweep off in flight, my darling:
wings triangled and rapid, like starlings.
Roger Armbrust
