Witness

South. Nothing at first.

In the dissolving day we watched the sky,

Seeing nothing at first — clouds, hill, the usual masterworks,

A few birds in silhoutte against the evening south,

And a few more, then more, robins by their bark, arriving

From the south in a steady wave evenly spread

From rim to rim, hundreds, maybe thousands, in their

Pulsing, wind-blown migration, low light on their chests,

On the woods at our backs, and on us, illumined.