Aerial

Over nacreous waves
the angels in their passages,
their drift and fall
and skyward lift
and over there
is down below
and under there
is up.

Snowflakes of feathers
they lay in striations of air –
a geology of waves,
a tracery of vapour,
a map of future nests
in which to willow and recline

but they will always ride the currents
that butterflies know to avoid
and crows consider broken.
Even starlings will break
a murmuration to get clear.

No one hears the insubstantial hammer –
not one bird –
the rainfall heartbeat,
the sunlight-punctuating bell.