I feel like a bird in summer,
nothing to run from
and no place to go.

I feel like a bird
with my hollow bones,
meant to be empty,
though they long to be full.

light enough to float

above the city
where I can imagine
a face for each dot
and one that looks up
to do the same for me,
to see me as I’m not.

and above the clouds
where everything below becomes
a dream.

I feel like a bird in winter,
beside a window,
left lying
on an asphalt bed

and I’m not dead,
so I still feel cold.

all brothers gone.
as they passed,
I wanted to follow them
to some warm home.

now I look north
where another forgotten bird
might be worse,
and I want
to stand naked against stark white,
but my feathers float in the freezing river,
drifting south towards some relief,

to rot in southern sands
or drift in southern seas.

goodbye,
my broken, tired body.
who will stay
and run north with me,
to find some other home,
one to weather,
one to lie.