A dear but distant friend sent me
the link to a camera on the Platte
that captures, live, during sunset,
upwards of 100,000 cranes
returning from far fields to roost
midstream on sandbar sanctuaries.
Countless chains of gliding shadows
cross a red bandana sky, swing
back, hover, drop, safe in numbers.
How astonishing to see so many birds
becoming islands in a river while I, far
removed, anticipate a virus flocking in.
Last April, I saw songbird silhouettes
fly across a bright midnight moon,
counted shad on underwater video
heard the first redwing trill from branches
high above a parkland pond. How strange
it feels to fear the next migration.