Migrating in great chevron formations, birds
flying North speak of the coming summer in
destinations grounded in collective memories.
What of hope or home, or future are they aware?
What do they say to the ones who never leave?

Are we not on the move too, if not in fact, but
In our hearts and minds of exploration
and in the vessels of the words read and heard?

But to where and to what purpose do we go, and
what do we say to the ones who never leave?