Seasonal Escapology & the Migratory Instinct in Birds

We take shelter on dark water

the wind is our night-song

greying into louder dawns

Until the first leaf casts out

the brown ghost of itself

and ice waits

like death, in the reeds.

I have to fly

Same way l always do

quietly cursing the inevitable

Succumbing easily beneath

the first numbing touch

:Winter, again and again

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Seasonal Escapology & the Migratory Instinct in Birds

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