A conflagration of the birds
I will not say they are the stars flying
Settles on the branches of a tree
(She supports them with weary limbs
Like a mother
Burdened by rollicking boys
Who frolic up and down her trunk),
And their swiftness
Shaking wings, shifting
Weight by hopping on this or that
Foot
Is like a fire
Or the sky at night.
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