This poem is taken from PN Review 7, Volume 5 Number 3, April - June 1979.
Migration
Not swallows volleying,
But swifts, two dozen in a kettle
Over the square-sided mill stack
At fading six o'clock-
Forty, fifty in echelons
Funneling to that flue. With morning
Their outthrow seems more rapid
And less visible, when the air
...
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