Ted's Cranes

for Kooser

Parachute glide down to Platte cool.
Must be a half million of 'em
landed last night. All I can see
is the poem Ted wrote when hard
freeze paralyzed them there, ice
hardened round their long legs
fastened death impending 'til shots
took life and fire carcasses. Here,
evening was gentle this time. Incoming
let down into flow with a bit of morrow
probable.