They lift in strips of flapping migration
Rising above the humid moist air
Of winter homes.

Searching for cool wet lands
They continue to rise.
Like billows of gray and white smoke,
They merge with clouds in spaghetti strips
Pointing their way toward cool nights,
and fishy waters.

In quiet darkness they pass
through the black cold of night
breaking the starlight for sentinels beneath them.

They are the promise keepers
of all that witness them.
They bring gifts from the
Warm breath of their winter homes.

Tied to their wings,
They drag the gulf air with them,
All the while slicing the sky.

Echoes of deep voices dislodge
The mist covered morning
Waking flowers and small creatures.

Breaking the thin ice of once
Frozen wet lands they secure a spot
And find the earth in stealth.