white birds above my head

a flock of birds white above my head,

always in another direction they head  

from where I go,

sometimes aside, or directly to

always away--

they never stay!

but what do I want them to do?

to stand still above me?

that cannot be true!

for i myself go too, 

they're just there to give me the clue

to start afresh per reality's cue

occurring every day,

how it's you saying me, 

𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳,

which makes us a we

𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

and are they undyed?

the color of the soul that surpasses the sublime?

stop—i don't think they are white, 

i think it's the night that's stark