#25 of 30


Time presses

into itself

until six months is

just a day

Every time I get it right
I have to leave again

To that other home where
Parts of me live out

Those same parts that cocoon
over winter

Dream of color and sound

Hidden beneath a cold,

white blanket

And in the moment

of making the most of a home

and its quiet refuge-

it’s time to emerge

and soar


somewhere else

How I love the warm nest

I have made

But how I also love the flying

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