FLYING HOME

Hollow boned necks crane.
Beaks preen, wings stretch, talons clench,
Knees flex backward.
They do not fly.
Squirrels chatter a glottal warning:
The sky is full of monsters.
They must wait until they’ve passed.
Necks crane, beaks preen, wings stretch,
Talons clench, knees bend backward.
They lift off to sketch a tightly wrought
Ellipse against the sky
And land among the topmost branches
Of the nearest tree on their long journey
Home.

Previously published by Noble House, U.K., in poetry anthology titled “Colours of the Heart”