Standing in the fred meyers parking lot drinking a dr. Pepper

Above where a thousand birds flapping and fluttering their wings. 

the smoke clogged sky had faded into an umbra of peach sorbet and aubergine. 

so soft you could slice a spoon through it. 

The glided gayly on a breeze which caressed my cheek like a familiar hand. 

as I stood on the black tarmac with the taste of sweet in my mouth. 

they flew about unified, variations upon a pattern when suddenly they perched. 

they perched, ten by tens next to their same feathered brethren chirping a meaningless song. 

they perched, along every line, every wire, every sign, every roof.

they perched, on every corner of the sun drenched sky like punched out shadow puppet silhouettes. 

and as I looked upon they many same faces, they began to fly. 

I don't know why. 

perhaps someone had plucked a telephone wire like a guitar string.

perhaps somewhere a butterfly had flapped its wings

Perhaps somewhere, someplace an integer had overloaded plunging the world into beautiful choas.

They where all the same as they sat in rows like soldiers and marshmallows. 

but when they flew they where identified as a different outlier of their cluster. 

different through their sameness

beautiful in the variety of their numbers.

I saw a thousand birds flap and flutter into the sky.

as the sun set from peach sorbet to aubergine

and the wind caressed me like a familiar hand. 

Reviews

[Shelley Warner]

That poem has a good feeling. I remember learning in a writing class to include as many of the 5 senses as you can. You have taste, sight, and sound. I like that.