… had I not been there as witness
no one would have seen a thing.
Mark Cocker, ‘Crow Country’

Dawn of ice-blue light.
                A full moon still holding sway
                                                 above the pines.

Something draws me outside
                to stand in the frost-licked grass,
                                                 lifting my eyes to the sky.

Streaming in from the east
                                a flock of rooks rise
                                                 in great loose skeins,

blending and skimming,
                spinning high and wide
                                                 into the brightening sky,

looping back on themselves,
                                switching and slipping
                                                 from pattern to pattern

high above the horizon,
                                their call barely audible,
                                                                a familiar gravelly cackle,

wanting nothing more than this vast sky,
                                                this shining vantage point.
                                                                                 High overhead

a starry shape-shifting entity,
                                wave after wave
                                                 as the planets balance.