They trickle down, most often
Like fugitive raindrops
Dodging and weaving, decorating
All my window panes

Or scuttle like busy insects
Searching for scraps and signs
Diving for bolt holes, freezing on trees
When danger comes along

Often they cling like children
On school’s first fearsome day
To mummy’s arm
Unsure of themselves, embarrassed
Not knowing what to say

But sometimes they rage
Like stallions
Silken hooves kissing the ground
And fly over ravaged landscapes
With eyes ablaze
Great chests heaving