Richard George - Augury

Gulls, I thought first; but they don't
skein like the grey-shirt bully-boys,
and these wings, ragged-edged
as sails the morning after Trafalgar
challenged Audubon. As though in Rome
I grappled with ignorant
geometries of flight-path
for the words to describe the future,
the innocence of a plague
across steppe, snow and sea that kills its messenger.

The bird of death is a no-bird.

Richard George

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/augury/