Disloquacious

Roosting in the trees like fruit,
Bunched, black, fist-sized, winter fruit,
Clustered at the twig tips, birds
Waited. Watched closely enough
Eyes shifted to watch you back.
Even the slow smoke that hung
Like a weightless curtain moved,

But you had to keep watching.
That's the rule for all things still:
Watch closely because they aren't.
I blinked and I found myself
At a different time of day,
Different day, trees without birds,
No idea how I got there.