A FLOCK OF SWIFTS

A FLOCK OF SWIFTS

A flock of spine-tailed swifts
swarms and drifts,
distant black wings on the blue,
predusk, summer sky.

They glide. They rise so high.
They roam the boundless realm:
the free, ethereal
empires of air.

Visitants,
voyagers of vastness,
they travel through the far
kingdoms of the winds,
countries of the clouds.

With such a seeming ease,
they soar and sweep,
they wheel and fly.
they skim the sky.

Above the earth’s
set, heavy world,
they live the light,
far in our sight;

they ride world breath-
no passports stamped for them
when they departed from
the far coasts of Japan.

With wings on wind, they span
the weather’s current world;
they range the airy streams,
the rivers of the heavens…

like thought's far vision,
swift, spirit seeing,
aware of world's vastness, aware
of boundlessness of being.