A third time...

How did this look to the birds?

I for one am certain the starlings who'd hovered over it did so en route to

a friendly neighboring tree,

saddened to see the stiff serge suit and and even a prince's thinning mane

try steady itself on the rails,

with a leg crumpled, finally, under another just like a fledgling's frail step.

Song sparrows know how chariots at the assault

and the strutting winds have stirred their wings before; how kindly wardens

of the state have slung weanlings on younger

shoulders before, in military grey, steadying them for a cruel and perilous sky.

And blackbirds, of course, who don't live only

for barren harvest fields prefer the swollen night stars. I'm pretty certain, too

the monotonously repeated fledgling's crumpled fall

will always be enough to make the watchful, looking down, laugh or cry.