High on the hills, clouded rain births the cry of geese
Switching from VFR to IFR.
They are invisible in the grey
And only heard now pitching their calls
from the very front of the flying V to the tails.
There are moans and rumblings up there
And the empty skyscrapers form an arcade
Of impassable towering clusters.
Lightening wacks the firmament. It teases.
An Osprey cries out to join the exodus
The morning becomes darker and Songdo
Tropics another midnight summer.
She casts a gentle darkness reminding
The skein this was the Yellow Sea once,
And it is time to head for shore.