the funeral birds

Tears for the mourners who are left behind Peace everlasting for the quiet dead. Lucretius

a black cloud of birds rolled across the surly sky
a casket of cars stretched along a coastal highway
orange road men swept away the cliff-side crumbles  
a wind flapped above the sea and eased into a bay
a set of waves scurried to shore and licked the seaweed sand

a gray town breathed beside a wall of mountain
a crowd of houses trembled as the air stiffened
squirrels scattered as the long shadows shriveled
mothers pinched clothes pins and pulled their sheets
boys dropped bicycles on lawns just off the streets
men tugged their wives off benches and public seats

as the funeral birds poured upon the telephone lines
the windows shuttered, and drew their curtains
the doors slammed, and slide their bolts
the chimney fires yawned, then filled their flues
as the funeral birds perched upon the porch rails

a single beak opens and a grave voice breaks the bleak air
the black bird shrieks, then tears a deathly song
the somber trees carry the carrion squall
the headstones wake the altar and gather the pall
as the funeral birds lift their feathery shrouds
and wail and weep high into the familiar clouds
for the breast broken, and the feathers splayed
nearby, in the aspen glade