winter skies fill with migrating flocks
species so numerous, uncountable
Phoenix flying above.
reminding one of buffalo herds
thundering once where I stand now
and they are all fluent in a common geesese.
all at once a high pitched roaring wind,
“stay together, stay alive!”
they sound out to each other,
“I’ll take the headwinds for an hour!”
wing to wing, nose to tail,
“watch out for low flying planes!”
mere inches display an accurate flight plan,
“The corn fields are just ahead!”
How do they do that?
Listen so well to each others’ crying voices?
No fights break out mid-sky.
No knives or guns posture or pose.
No tanks or bombs invade their formations.
They issue no newspapers, carry no cell phones.
Repeating the inter-species eons old songs.
“stay sharp, stay strong, stay together!”
The river isn’t far now.
it’s a phenomenon at which to marvel,
since the internet is a bit spotty lately.
and Christmas sales have passed.
I stand in my usual temple of marvels,
An abandoned hay field.
Contemplating the disconnect of humankind
until the population of Phila-delphia has flown over.
Making odd, speckled clouds of dry sky.
Then, circling so low I could almost touch her
One whose mate taken by rifle or predator
“Where, where, where?”
pleading discordant notes,
“Love! Love! Are you? Are you lost?”