Photo by Piotr Szajewski
As the sun begins to set,
on the highest tips of leafless twigs
are perched at least fifty sparrows,
all facing toward the setting sun
and trilling.
Why the sycamore today
and not the almost-as-tall
mulberry trees or oaks?
The best view, perhaps,
or as close to heaven as possible.
At other times, I see their small bodies
strung out side by side
on the telephone wire
in the hastening dusk.
The birds remind me of beach walkers
at this time of day
stopping to face westward.
It’s as if watching that sinking globe
is a sacrament not to be missed.