For a moment, the thrashing dance is still.
We find you reflected on every plate
And lens of our composite eyes. We wait
For your vibration , your shivering will.

Lifting up is such ecstasy, leaving
The grubs and the grinding days behind.
Sweet sons and daughters goodbye, we will think
Of your tiny bodies, pulsing, feeding

And not be sad. We leap into the sky
Above the hard earth, the windy spaces.
Turning, twisting in a line of chases,
Maddened by the call, the need to fly

And be with you. To find ourselves worming
Into the churning frenzy, the deafening hum
Wings and legs entwined, moving into one
Crawling, screaming, swarming, swarming, swarming…

Brian Rutherford

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