Claw Swarm

by Katarina Boudreaux

A speckled sea of sky,
a trout cast high
wriggles against the
grip of winter’s suffocating
clawed fist.

A moving sky swarms
in a mighty thrust of
swirl and dip and
shrieky black caw that
envelopes even the
slimmest thought of light.

Their butter glow eyes of
deep night prophesy
dot dark oiled frocks;
red rimmed and gutter
gloomy, they engage
in a bee swarm of
mad cackle chorus.

The sky stays still a
moment, the blanket
of cold a false respite.

En masse they dive as a
wind whipped waterfall to
rest on barren brushed
brick, steel, concrete
and trodden under earth.

A snap, and the
sooty cape unfurls
in ripple water rings to
rise and circle,
Hell’s minions loosed
upon unsuspecting sky
to turn tail to the
doom of ice, pushing
hard to meet the wet heat
of the southern wind,
selfishly leaving all else to
the waste of the elements
and the caked, cold
dripping nose of winter.

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