Almost October

See the starlings in the new white sky, in the clear ice of clarity? It is almost October verges are being crossed, definition erases muddle with cutting edges. It is time to study the long shadows Time also to lift up our hands, to levitate a survival from a tepid ennui. Sweeping winds clean the sultry cut the loose ends of old threads. The tombs of the sun are emptying. The Starlings are now turning, turning as one. Every wing migrating into a choregraphed emptiness as eyes sparkle open.