Through the Eyes of Birds

light sweeps across the hills
in a soft glow of slow burn heat

nature consumed by
smoldering ember reds
golden flametip edges
warm coal blacks
and powdered ash whites

there is perfect stillness

bare branches and brackish water
caught in symbiotic static and stasis

silent bedrock moves at glacial pace
greater than gods
gargantuan and ominous
a grand display dissipating into the distance

clouds hang hauntingly above the Manor
wandering into the warm wet air
against the gentle suppression of empty ether

the birds are the observers
regal and reserved
of the meaningless motion of Man
amid the frenzied flourishing of fauna

He Stands at Right Angles with the world,
Raising Flattened Hard pine Walls.
He Creates a Floral Formula of Captive marigolds and oleanders.
He Plots His land with Mathematical Precision.
He is Cold, Calculating, and Consuming.

then a quiet flicker of feathers and flesh
and the Clouds no longer belong