Jane Dougherty
Night-flying

Night sky full of moon and flying echoes,
flying echoes of unseen wingbeats,
wingbeats and calling
crane-voices,
calling
me.

Above the night meadow, the cranes are flying,
flying home to northern wetlands
navigating by the
light of
the
moon.

Beneath the moon, the crane-light casts silver
shadow-nets of feathered light,
trawling guiding stars,
singing loud
northland
songs.

I, you, we, them, the light, moon-flying
in feathered dreams, singing songs
of desert winters,
northern summers,
marshland
cool.