by the sheer fact of multiplicity.
Magpies line up in the hope of meaningful significance, their message yet ever extended into meaninglessness.
Four and forty birth birds mirthed of the earth. In the tree the sorrow, up the sky we scale. When the sky was hollow we all began to howl: Now was not this a pretty fowl to sing us through the day?
It will be single.
It will be singular noticed. A cursing sponge to sop up all our unease.
This is the point at which a determined eradication programme begins.