Jeffrey Harrison
November 2003

      Swifts at Evening


          The whoosh of rush hour traffic washes through my head
      as I cross the bridge through the treetops into my neighborhood
           and what’s left of my thoughts is sucked up suddenly
        by a huge whirlwind of birds, thousands of chimney swifts
          wheeling crazily overhead against a sky just beginning
            to deepen into evening—turning round and round
               in their erratic spiral ragged at the edges
         where more chittering birds join in the circling
            flock from every direction, having spent all
              day on the wing scattered for miles across
                 September skies and now pulled into the
                 great vortex that funnels into the air-
                    shaft of the library, the whole day
                      going like water down a drain with
                         the sucking sound of traffic and
                           the birds swirling like specks
                              of living sediment drawn from
                                  the world into the whirlpool
                                     into the word-pool flapping
                                          like bats at the last
                                              moment diving and
                                                            turning into
                                                                       words.

from Signs of Arrival, Copper Beech, 1996.