Birds of Passage

north has lost its allure to the great unsettling

mist lingers later in the day storms smell like the tropics

the sun cedes ever more to thieving ravens

and shimmering on a far shore that magnetic field

traveling so light even the songs stay behind

but home has grown beyond elaboration

mountains don brighter plumage berries ferment like sunsets

first a mellow burn then the whole of the night sky

dark and speckled as the inside of an egg