Passenger Pigeons

Here was a symphony of wings,

An aerial river of birds across the sky in thunderous floods

Of slate-blue feathers, a host of violet throats

Splitting the sky with one unerring thrust.

Here were red feet of pigeons spilling

Like blood through the trees, breaking the forest down

In their dense roosting wild with guttural cooing.

Here in this weight of wings were folded death and dust.