Birds On A Wire, Fish On A Spire

There’s a spire growing out of a chimney

on a roof

across my street,

there’s a fish and an aerial

atop them

where birds of a feather all meet.

The fish follows the pathway of currents,

head into the wind when it blows,

I see the wind’s movement in clouds there

and in twirling of fish for it knows

And the birds know too when it’s blowing

for then the aerial is bare,

home they must go to seek shelter,

I look then and no birds are there.

Sometimes the clouds are so gathered

that sky is a uniform grey,

no movement observed in clouds passing

but I look and I check anyway.

And there, on the spire where it’s lonely,

lives a fish that never goes home,

It guides and resides, forever turning,

in the face of all winds ever blown.

It strikes me then, spires and aerials

and fish and birds at their height

serve purpose beyond their creation,

I’ll keep looking and learn what I might.

 

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