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Migration
May 20, 2024
Orange august feathers
Perch on my nose and rest
Only they may take wing when no one looks
Not even myself.
I try and squint or cross my eyes
But the colors only seen in a past memory
Blur into delusion and foolishness,
For gold shines brightest when reflected on.
The migration season comes soon
Do I trap and starve our wants?
Or do I let the night take you back into her arms.
Maybe the morning clementine sun will being a new visitor
While I wish to see you fly off, far away, and migrate once more.
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