Dear you, a human licks skin out plucking
new blue feathers, white tail. Love, you.
Your flight is oblique, the sun
a bare yellow light.
A human panics into a bird. Sprawls out the house
through the windows. Migration of any kind
loosens the sky cloak. Dear you,
we're not appalled, love you.
But at some point the work to return to.
Your home, your life, the light
supper of soup and bread, your white
bedding gently illuminate.
Dear, you're an elegy to flight the moment you brush
ground's heady flora and brunt landing.
Walk in through the door, upright
with all your limbs.
The other humans eye you steadfast.
Say, I've been away.
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