Paris Aubaine - 1. Birds of Prey



Birds of prey, maybe a dozen, soar

in windless heights of air that dwarf the Island.


Their species? The long and tapering wings,

bodies that brief and presence in Paris


deny them a name, deliver them from their names.


They evolve their singular fiction

in a visible nowhere above the City.

 Michael Edwards

They seem to gaze fixedly on timorous creatures,

scanning the naked Cathedral square


for shrew and vole crouched in the undergrowth.


Up there they wheel and turn

Nonchalantly their being, who-they-are.


By their twin scimitars they cleave through time,

Ceaselessly moving the centres of their dance,


Scorning words and the possessing stare.


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