swallows are late

Easter upon us
and the swallows
have not yet come.


Each morning
I scan the southern skies
expecting
their twittering descent
and dispersion
to their old nests
in vain.

I hope our swallows
will come from Egypt
and not from Iraq,
further east,
where bombs have been falling
for days unremittingly,
jamming delicate
bird compasses,
as they have maddened
the looting crowds.


There might be
no more swallows
from the south east
to herald spring.