the birds who live through winter know
how it is possible to be lonely
buried in never ending seams of snow
their small calls lie unanswered
how it is possible to be lonely
buried in never ending seams of snow
their small calls lie unanswered
yet
stoic, they tuck distance under each wing
as if for a soft, shapeless journey
and seeing them lets me dream of spring
begin remembering the way out
3 comments:
This is beautiful, Maya!
Spring is coming.
Thank you, Nicole!!
And thank you, Gillian--I needed to hear that.
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