Migrants by Night

Weeks after the solstice

now in the winter night

the crash of surf thunders

from the foot of the sea cliffs

the heavy swells crashing

after their voyages

out of the deep north

the roar lifts from them

to roll on without them

as they break in the foam

of the ones before them

with that sound under them

carrying the mountain

into the midst of the sea

which they have always been

since the first motion

that was in no place then

out of no place began

gathering itself in turn

to become a direction

under the clear wind

from the plate of origin

that now lifts the thin

swift cries of the plovers

over the dark ocean

each one calling alone

unseen to hear again

another in the wind

in a season between

journeys with no horizon

they fly in the night

as though it could be known

from season to season

as though it were their own

to hear each other in

while it turns around them

and the waves of light flow in

from the first motion

bringing it with them

all the way to the moment

when the cry comes again

again before it flies on

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated May/Jun 1999
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