Whirl
the whirl of birds
in formation,
a stop-motion
camera captured cloud,
an arrhythmia of wings
in a dusky sky
palpable providence
of a sort
like gleening a glimpse
of God
as night comes into focus
more affirmation than answer
that speaks,
'a part of everything, apart from nothing'
and so,
with the avian dance
now done with the darkness,
an ornament of birds safely roosts
until twilight dawning
stirs a song,
a whistle on the wind,
a melody to move
through days,
night after night
until morning comes again,
like resurrection
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