Mother, the dead
Mother, the dead are deafening now.
The dead are like starlings in a tree
I clap my hands once.
They rise in the air.
They rise in a flock.
They darken the sky.
They turn on the wing.
They turn again on the wing.
Mother, the dead are calling to me
—James Fenton, from “The Song of the Dead”
Photography Credit Donald MacMillan, “Six Suns”