CROWDED AIR From October North
they fled a wintry day.
A million birds
to winter first at Tampa Bay
and greet two jumbo jets,
in their fly way
which passed too close
controllers say.
The one I rode came in
just a little bit high
while the other somewhat slow
came within a mile
Too close,
said the man who wrote the file,
and tipped the TV press
and primed his smile
I was home and safe,
and watched the setting sun
obscured by those black birds
who rose and danced as one
in dense and polite crowd.
How swift they turned and spun
in changing harmony
but safe and ordained unison.

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