a line of black birds

a line
of black birds
sit
with tightened wings
on the wire.
imperious
winged
creatures,
staring in
the same direction.
wind
hardly ruffling
their dark knit feathers.
neither omen,
or portents
do they hold. no measure
of doom
can you discern,
but still it rattles
you,
to see them.
so still, so aligned
in defiance
of this world, of light.
waiting with strange
patience
when to leave,
to take flight.