blackbirds on a wire

you spend
the day counting
blackbirds
on a wire.
you are distracted
by something
you can't
put your finger
on. so you sit
at your kitchen
table, coffee
in hand, and watch
the birds fly
and dip down
in a straight
line, staring in
at you, as you
stare out at
them. they are as
black as if
they had flown
out of a lake
of oil. gleaming
wet with blackness.
at some point
you'll answer
the phone that
keeps ringing
and ringing and
ringing.