Barn Swallow

Metal-still on the shed-roof tin
until it cocks its head
to eye the world
which has begun to crack
its own black shell
until its claws pull
its body in
with soft trigger-pressures it’s up
and up higher
all up in an arc wheeling down swooping
and screaming smoothly down dead
on the twisting trail
of a dragonfly which turns
quickly in the silver
signals of its wings
until the swallow takes that silver
for treasure in its beak
and the beak’s blunt scissor
shuts down hard
and harder then the bird pitches down
the sheer cliffs of air
slipstreaming God
to the shed-roof where it sits
and eats
and is
out again spinning
a thin blade turning
on a dotty moth dazed from every side by light
and stoneblinded surely by
this cataract of black
and is an air-ace barnstorming
stealing the stomachs of the watchers
with its dolphin’s bounce from an air to an air
and twists tricks turnings for the joy of it
and flies butterfly-fluttery
at all the edges of the sky
and there turns as quickly
as a liar in a lie