the child Poem by Monica Aasprong

I see a flock move across the sky it is birds and furred animals which have bitten and scratched each other until they have become one, a sort of cloud, all the bodies closely hooked together, to a large darkness of feathers and furs, claws and beaks. I don't know if they cling to each other out of fear or love, or if they bite and scratch each other out of hatred. Nothing is red. Everything is black. Black as fur. Bring