The purple martins of the night fly swiftly overhead

The sounds of their calls drape over the city, an undeniable presence

The whole flock leaves us in awe as we gaze upward, a sight for sore eyes

Amidst the magnificence of the crowd of swallows, a single white bird appears

Effortlessly standing out among the vortex of purple overhead

A rare find in an already rare sight, the moment is swifter than a sparrow

Be it fish of the sea or birds of the night

If we miss the many, we never find the one