Echoing Light

When I was beginning to read I imagined that bridges had something to do with birds and with what seemed to be cages but I knew that they were not cages it must have been autumn with the dusty light flashing from the streetcar wires and those orange places on fire in the pictures and now indeed it is autumn the clear days not far from the sea with a small wind nosing over dry grass that yesterday was green the empty corn standing trembling and a down of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields and everywhere the colors I cannot take my eyes from all of them red even the wide streams red it is the season of migrants flying at night feeling the turning earth beneath them and I woke in the city hearing the call notes of the plover then again and again before I slept and here far downriver flocking together echoing close to the shore the longest bridges have opened their slender wings