of repetition. Hurdling 

      together in sync, the curves 

      and bends of angles strike  

            the stormbound sky.  

            Sweeping streaks of ink blot the 

            permeated heaven, a movement 

      so careless and in tandem like pieces  

      of a puzzle. They don’t need any direction, 

      an instinct and knowledge rooted into  

            their rustling wings, their beaks head fast 

                  to unify. Their synchronization 

                  is frames of time, a shuttered speed 

                        of changing images with the sound of 

                              the ruffling sea. A single chirp stirs  

                        the flock against the collective batting of  

                              feathers, dancing together 

                  up and down, side to side, and swarming with 

            likeness to waves. Plague of locusts, school of fish;  

                  they are just another set of creatures in the animal  

                        kingdom coming together to become 

                  shape-shifting clouds. A billowing  

            smoke of hundreds or thousands catching 

      the eye, noticing the giant ripple of attention drawn 

            up to the phantom spirit of the starlings. Their mask 

                  of mysterious behavior is continuously  

                        unknown as they soar through 

                              apricot and lavender filled 

                                    sunsets.