All this rising,
coming, going
these wings weaving
open lengths of muted
notes like an orchestra, heavy
on the brass, tuning
down, geese gleaning
rootstock, bulrush shoot, marsh grass, spilled
grain, this ivory
singed white by the perfect black
feather tips
roughening the flock
which sweeps the sky
like a river
washing the oil-tinged gravel shoulder with whisked
shadows baffling,
murmuring, this simultaneous departing
and arriving, thinning
and thickening wind lowering itself suddenly
overhead.