Migration
They come like smudges of light
Sieved through ragged bar codes
landing lights
Lurching down an invisible slide
Toward Jerusalem or St. Paul
winter landing
To the airport at river level
Ground lights racing like lightning
down the runway
In morning they come over the hill
Flying aluminum sausages
invisibly linked
Winter sausages from factories
In Seattle and France
nose to tail
Funneling swarms of flyers
Into concave regularity
rowed and columned
Stuffed like marbles
On Chinese checker boards
sausage stuffing
Tumbling loose
At the ant-hill terminal
runaway agates
Jets screaming at each other
Leaping from the racing lights
rumbling the lake
We stand frozen-footed
Watching the winter sky
Worm-holed
The sky is empty
Of feather-flighted wings
jet stormed
The last Canada geese
Wait for Tower clearance
south bound
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