by Ethel Mortenson Davis
At sunset
the birds of heaven
came in low to land.
A flock of gray and red
sandhill cranes
filled a stage-like sky
with laughter
that echoed across
the wetlands of Superior,
across the jutting gray rocks
and ragged white pine,
and through
hearts and lungs
and minds.
Note: The phrase “the birds of heaven” came from a book of that name by Peter Mathiessen.
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