Tuesday 6 May 2014

Swifts by Andy Barritt

     warm aether
         the swifts return
no longer fouled
     by trailing nets
         of rain, black scythes
harvest the blue
     meniscus that teeters
         like a dinner plate
between crossed eyes
     right on the nose
         stuff, these feats
of gyroscopic skill
     so hard to see
         as other than joy
when they shrill wild
     thrilling in roll and shoal
         seething in knots
suddenly falling
     in sequence
         like a dropped chain
as a hobby’s silhouette
     sharks over, too quick
         to rake the shallows
from which they spiral
     into smaller gyres
and rising
     to rest
         in falling.

Andy Barritt, East Midlands, UK