Neither here, nor there, but always

Above my home, a line of light is gliding
toward the ground. On the wings

of rigid birds of aluminum and sound,
it breaks open oceans, waking
the midwestern sky. And limns

the grey pocket of returning,
human hearts pulsing with sighs.

And what of it to me and my neighbors
that even when we sleep and scatter
untame seeds into our gardens,

these travelers steep the air above us
in their hopeful gaze and anxieties.

 

Published in CalibanOnline in 2015.

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