the sky was born in anticipation of our people
the sky was born for us
fresh creation
I watch birds now, communicating through movement,
look now, a flock making circles in the courtyard,
landing then skittering off again.
across the evening sky, a smaller flock approaching
joining the larger one
one bird, perched in the high trees, calls out
the sky, flaked in orange and purple
the sky, a beacon for our approach.
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