Perched

They landed on the phone wire
Perched, like feathered fruit
On the slender branch
Of a man-made tree.

A hundred tiny voices
Calling to the sky
A raucous caucus
Vibrating the air.

Sudden silence, like nightfall.
Stillness on the wire
Waiting for a sign
Hushed breath in each breast.

Abrupt – the flutter, fluster,
Flap and fly up high
Shape the swoop above
Vanish over the horizon of rooftops.

E.M. Swift-Hook