For the Children of Syria

Like the dark clouds passing overhead,

in waves of escape their shadows silently

sweep across the low hills

toward Beirut, toward the sea,

away from the circling wake of buzzards,

above the spree of the murder of crows

black with furrowed brows,

brazen in the lawless skies,

like clouds of flies, choking lost Damascus.

A sedge of bitterns, necks retracted,

clip low across desert grasses,

nipping at a charm of finches,

stubborn dreamers despite the woe of storm.

Gusts blow against the puddling of mallards

ducking half their heads in street-cratered pools.

The ostentation of peacocks unravels

in cruel ramshackle, fleeing dimwitted

wingside a dirty kit of pigeons

as the thunder undermines all but survival.

The solemn parliament of owls calls

for order in the panicked migration,

but the air is thick with noise;

chaotic the deceit of lapwings

counterpointing the scold of jays.

Even the convocation of eagles cannot

break the grip of shadow’s curling fingers

holding the horizon hostage. Now

sheets of cold rain finally fall upon

a cast of falcons like a final curtain,

without an encore, future gone,

a watch of nightingales lost in dark,

uncertain, silent, prelude to

the stark lamentation of swans.

"Terms of Venery" refers to the colorful collective nouns used to describe animals in their groups: herds, or flocks, or pods, or murders, or puddlings, and so on. "Venery" is an archaic word for hunting (think venison). This tradition of creatively naming assemblages of animals stems from the late Middle Ages.

Last week I had the privilege of sitting with a Syrian immigrant and hearing his story of growing up in, and ultimately fleeing, Syria. This country, with its long and beautiful heritage, has descended into an unimaginable nightmare of chaos. The Syrian humanitarian crisis is overwhelming. Over 12 million Syrians have been displaced (not to mention how many have been killed). Half of this staggering number is children.