Nature
Sometimes I see this murmuration of rooks and think the downfall of the human wouldn’t be so bad as long as birds’ eccentric waltzes were upheld. Dizzy with those messengers’ mercurial ink— a tealeaf wine that sloshes round the twilight’s glass— I’ve fallen prey to nature’s hypnotising voice, a voice that masks a fang-encrusted mouth. Behold, it purrs, these innocents who glory as they pass in front of you; admire their right to inherit the Earth… But I should wake and turn aside—as is my choice— taking my place among the only creatures made to wonder: what could my self-sundowning be worth?
The question at the end took me by surprise. At first, I misread "self-sundowning," and when I read it correctly, I didn't understand. Now, I see just what you're saying and see that there's no other (or better) way you could've said it. Wonderful piece.
Very nice