i hear you throaty warbles on cue as i step into the cold. but i have yet to behold the graceful arc of your neck and the playful dance of your trek along the ancient current. oh sandhill, it’s as if you weren’t so different from me floating on the edge of free.
it’s in the not knowing that the heart wrestles with pain on one side and joy on the other. not knowing whether to write or not to write, to build or not to build to preach to the captives or to stay silent. are the birds full of such angst as they gather before theirContinue reading “on not knowing. a poem.”
honk honk honk honk hurry gaggle after gaggle bleat rushing over our home in a flurry where where where where tell me over and over i gape wondering beneath them, can i follow?