When I see shadowed figures massed in Vs-
Black, flapping companies of arrowheads
Fired by an urge which most birds carry,
I want to treat them like a taxi; thrust
My palm upwards, hoping that they glance down
To catch the ant asking for a quick lift.
Oh, I know that even if they see me
I doubt they’ll think too much of it. A man-
Does not posses a pair of wings to spread.
It makes me want to call the friends I have-
Choose a time, a place; map a lengthy route
Which skewers the savage, snow crowned mountains
And glides over oceans, into unknown
Continents; temperate and quaint paradises;
New homes, untapped by man and bird alike.
We’d gather in our own shape, not a sharp
Loud locomotive, like pointed geese make,
But a loose O, our calm eyes smiling;
Expecting deviation. Welcoming
All who wish to join in the migration.