Winged Pause

WINGED PAUSE


When chestnut-capped
And breasted Welcome Swallows come
To a standstill,
They never do so for nothing, or for long;
Always in purpose
Like they do to roost upon a sagging wire
Or, in its season, to
Come to some shape in solidity to build a nest
Which is why a pair
Are landing now atop the old holed rusty bungtop
Of the corrugated iron
Tank just outside my window, and see, one descends
Still further beneath
The sky, into its gloom, between its ripple-bent walls
And are not disoriented,
Above the drip-circling mirrors of its black and watery floor
To mud up a wall cup
Nest and raise more of that winged kind who
Do not sit at tables or at rest
To eat, but fly from winged pause to feast above us
In the restaurants of the sky.