Migrations

The first sign is vocal,
Multitudinous in character,
The voices of great masses
On the water.

This is a border land
Where bluff meets wave
And where, as the fields
Turn to muddy ruts,
The geese and swans
Come to rest.

The spirals of return
As trees begin to bud
Find the flocks, legion,
And like all migrations
Chaotic. Greetings in the dark
Wreak havoc on the quiet
Lapping at the shore.

In the gray morning
After the rain, poor
Sodden creatures lift 
Themselves to carouse,
The low clouds sliding
The horizon.

Disharmony, cacophony
Directionless and din
Flap-wing and swirl
Until finally a vee forms
Heading North,
For the crossing. 

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