From the corner of the clouds
scrambled at first
without reason or pattern, just a will.
They cut through the whiteness
exposing the grey,
The most powerful wailing from the sky
fighting with each other for a place,
Correctness beginning to form.
Yelling at the ground as they search for direction
higher, faster, correcting, back again.
And at just the moment
the wind blows a speck of white to the earth,
The leader takes point.
The arrow is drawn.
Silence in purpose.
And all wings fly in time.