They’re shooting on the marsh tonight

The teal and I, we cannot settle

My heart the rush of turning wings

I feel the flock

I know the rise in glorious harmony

The turn and counter-turn

The break-up

To circle flooded meadows once, twice alone and

Settle into temporary peace upon still ponds

Only to alarm and flutter once again.

 

What though the huntsmen haunt a different patch?

We flock, we feel the shot from miles away

Still pierce our collective breast.

Understand us, if we pipe in panic

When threat’s upon some others of our feather

Forgive us, as we circle, rise and fall

Disrupt, and muster, call and call and call

I must lift and splash and turn and counter-turn

And settle only briefly, to rise again

In grey November dusk and flood.

We are the flock

The guns are real if distant now

We cannot settle to the sound of death