The rain of bodies – Anne M. Carson

Pods of gangangs hurl sleek grey bodies
into a receptive sky.  They surf, rising and dipping,
catching air-current waves in sets from ridge
to ridge.  Red-capped males lead.  Querulous calls
resound across the valley.  The empty space above
fills, opens out – a book I’ve always wanted to read.
Down the road, duck hunters in camouflage gear
camp by the jetty, waiting for the season to open. 
I dread dawn’s mayhem, broken plumage. 
Early morning, the pop pop of distant guns interrupts
sleep, innocent as a child’s replica, doing its deal
of damage.  No peaceful transition from sleep, no
dream tatters curled about the mind to mull over while
the billy boils, to wonder at over breakfast.  All I think
of is the rain of bodies, the thud as they hit earth.