Skein They're honking overhead
Autumn's two-tone yodel
Breaks first light's silence
Somewhere up there
Beyond the rust of maples
And their wind-urged applause.
A group of eight or nine
Pats the damp air
Perfect V formation
Stroking a cadence
Breast thumping
Wingspread whispering
Neck craning for new distances.
Air wisdom requires that V
Rearguard slip-streams
Lead players change at intervals
And without a hitch.
Couples in retreat
Mate for life you know.
Harvested fields en route
Draw them down
For gleanings
Before thrilling lake crossings
Before state lines pass
In mute respect
And well-wishing.
Surely the hint of frost
Clears the lungs
Tunes the inner chords
October's metronome.
And warmer fields
And quicker streams
Await the honking
Feel it coming.
Au revoir.
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