precision

it's precision, probably
that makes me wonder
what to call those
black birds teeming
on the power lines above
the empty field. As one
they leap from their
perch and swirl over
the yellowing grass
like a cloud of bees.
Are they swallows? Sparrows?
Even if I knew their name
I would not have words
to describe the grace
of their flight, nor
the wonder of their unity.