The Perfect Maryalver Poem

i was just laughing about this, knowing that we'd get there pretty soon. But it really is the perfect poem, i think, that has carried some conversation for you and me. Yes, shall i go? Letbe gret starlings in winter, chunky and noisy, but with stars in their black feathers,. they spring from the telephone wire, and instantly they are acrobats in the freezing wind. And now in the theatre of the air, they swing over buildings, dipping and rising. They float like one stippled star that opens for a moment, fragmented, then closes again. You watch and you try, but you simply can't imagine how they do it with