while calculus stitched every long wing
and wingbeat precisely into place in
the turbulent slipstream of every bird
ahead as they faded away to the south.
In less than three months now, the same
equations will embroider them again
onto spring skies. I will see them. I will
hear them as strands part and they descend
into the fields in the same pairs that flew.
Day and night I’ll hear them, remember you.