Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

they are acrobats

in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

they float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can’t imagine

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard. I want

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.

dipping and rising;

then closes again;

how they do it

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

I feel my boots

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

Mary Oliver