Five hundred hands wave, and
winter clouds part. We fling
thoughts, left and right; they hit
the windshield. We witness hundreds
of meaningless deaths, and we wonder
at the power of a simple shift of a wing—
we realize we can’t avoid the tip of a beak,
and we can’t account for the flock.
This poem is being shared with d’Verse Open Link Night #52— one year–woot!– and with Tweetspeak Poetry as part of the July Mosaics theme. I am using words from this poem by Todd Davis, titled “Democracy”.