big flocks of chimney swifts clear the houses
above mine as i wait to go to town. pull and
tug their flight is elastic. wing spans well out
of proportion, like little Vic's tall tales, or like
ice cream and vicoden; affords such small
birds their whole lives in flight.
they never set a spell. to rest they grapple walls
and if preferred, focus one eye at a time, which
i do in the car, until she motors past a mess of
camels who occupy the pasture on the drivers
side, like it was nothing. i laugh at the corn
grows in the field opposite, to find my
purchase. the silent beasts
answer in kind.