And an upthrust of feathers 
before the downpour 
darting downcloud from grey cumuli 
still gilded and glowing— 
growing weather ahead 
as the last light settles in 
low through the rafters 
under tin— 
in the amidships of the shed 
the stucco nests. 
And the swallows swinging starboard, 
ascending above the side yard 
to catch the gnats 
that flex in currents 
beyond the curtain— 
before switching swift to port 
to dive for mosquitos 
more dangerous than lions.