Sunset Flying Home to Chicago

Sunset streaks red on the snowy dunes,
Patterned,
As if tended by a Japanese gardener,
Raked into waves, into a vapor sea,
As the crescent moon looks on,
Not yet obscured.
What a lonely place,
This wasteland,
With only the company of vast
Metal
Birds.
Tell me,
Do flocks of geese fly through this world,
Under the light of Cygnus,
Where ground and sky are of the same nature?
Do they hear Orion's call,
and Gemini's reply?
Do they wonder that the ground glows
At night
above the Windy City?