we outrace the seasons and so
deliberately
one day in November reminds them
of a day last November
what other reason to take flight
is needed, one bird
following the other
let me rest, and send them away
with thoughts of frost and the naked bough
How is it the flock has come
to wheel with one mind, each bird
to trust himself as his brother
what migration does for the species, casting
shadows upon whitecaps
and the exhaustion that can only be associated
with homecoming, the body
at once earth’s grasp on the will
