The Secret of Migrating Birds

Green covers green again
and all the shades of green hit me
as I write this poem in my head
For a while
a little while
happy thoughts here lived

Now I feel the void
come to challenge
what is left of you in me
Now I falter and you fall
wobbly knees and weak arms
struggle with gravity

It is a cold candlelit room
somewhere they haven’t discovered electricity yet
Darkness clings to the corners
with shadows and hidden things
Light dancing around the candle
as though a ritual of worship

Half the time I’m in the desert
cool night sands under my feet
The smell of dusty rugs
and wet camel fur
soft charm of an Arab flute
and the deep, heavy intonations of an ancient language

The other half I’m with you
under the blankets
in your lonely bed
The smell of your hair
as my chin rests on
warm human skin

Kilometers between
hearts, minds, bodies
for now,
But souls as one gently
touching, holding, caressing
into eternity and what comes after time

I want to go back
to grandfather’s garden
climb atop his fig trees
Breathe in the mountain village air
of childhood and days spent
running in the sun and wind

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