Westbound.

The good bird flies over home once or twice in its life,

the nest lay empty in between mounds of sand.

Leverage of smoke, music and laughter built the foundation we all come back to, until we don’t.

 

The world is too big for five birds.

The fourth, flew away to grow bigger wings.

The third, built anew top a mountain of great rings.

The second, let its wind choose which eggs it may foster.

The first, steps wide with its chest out on the highway.

And the fifth writes to ease its mind on late nights on end.

 

Often as not I think of the time we’d spend, the smile’s lament on flashlight against the dark sea, dancing figures circling the music to spread our song like a fire planting embers on this ceiling of ours.

 

Steady growing light in my stomach,

Is a knot in ways that keep the wishes at bay. 

The day we left the nest for the sand to bury our memories.

All of our silhouetted days.

 

Once or twice in our life when we abandon migration,

we make our way past the highways, mountains of rings, home and big university dreams.

We will meet in between the sand and fashion ourselves a new nest.