When I take time to notice
cranes pause in migration to dance:
they spiral tight from forward flight
and drop in my direction,
circle twice, thrice, four, and more –
I lose count in my delight.
They and I are one:
we breathe the selfsame air
they so high and I so here
we sing the same old song –
we are all god, you and I and they,
in our migrations true and long.