In Flight (a poem)

Starlings
in flight,
     the rising,
     the falling;
     the crescendo,
     the decrescendo;
     the ebb,
     the flow.
Winged
artists,
aerial 
dancers,
poetry
in motion. 
The sky,
     your canvas;
the horizon,
     your playground. 
Gliding
beautifully,
individually,
on currents
of wind
together
in unity,
     not unison,
creating shapes 
never imagined. 
Moving 
forward,
     always forward,
toward
the next
resting place
together.
  — bshivers

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