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.