Wrens gather in the shrubs at sunset
to perfect the pattern / so no one gets lost /
so everyone knows the plan / so they make it
to Mexico in time to rest.//
They fly together from bushes to nearby trees and back again /
surrounding me as I walk and survey the sky /
and the shadows / of their feathered bodies
against the waning sun.//
I am an object that the flock avoids /
never hitting me / affirming my presence /
by this action / as I watch their dance as a grounded
mover / grasping the last flutter of twilight.//
