On hearing the swallows’ song

A field of wheeling notes
and sounds,
black speckles darting
gainst a cloud
lit golden grey,
night’s morning shroud,
which scoops and sends
their chorus down:

The ripples fall,
from tinkling flight
of singing swarm
at tallest height,
as, all devout,
their windsung rites
escape the heavens,
and alight

on me

and bright my lowly face
by way of sky’s excited rain –
a sweet arpeggiated skein
which calls me forth to fly and play.

Now caught,
adorned with awe, absorbed,
I strain enamoured eyes
and more;
if only one
would deign to fall
and pluck my sole
away from all

that holds me
far below that throng
of swallows
scraping anvil strong,
all the evening long –
mere motes
composing purest song.


The clouds with growls of rain-wolves rumble,
a wide surprise that shakes men’s souls

from flashes, gnashes, hearts run humble
neath ceilings that leak though howling holes

and pounding sounds on surest shelters
to shake and make our fensters fall.

The pack attacks, with puffs and pelters
to rush as gushes, air-wolves all.

What are your thoughts on this piece? To me it feels incomplete, but I wanted to share it with you in the meanwhile.

It’s been a month of many snippets and only a handful of full length poems, none of which are ripe for putting online, at least yet. So I’ll appreciate your comments on Rain-wolves. Thanks.