Monday, June 6, 2011


Above the treeline/ it flies, little beak a caret marking where/ some buoyancy or joy’s gone missing.*
How long would you have gone,
or how far would you have flown
to salve your pain, to ease a burden?
Would those you leave behind know
that one day your flight could finally
be the last one, and must be kinder?
You have all the agility and the grace
of one who has known too many hurts
to plan on a escape and not return.
Fly if you must, to some distant shelter,
but it is your heart’s constancy turns
you back to one who will always wait
by an open window, leaning out to see
if  by sundown you will be back, perch
on the branch at the edge of the woods,
and warble your coming home song
forgiving what needs to be forgotten
and finally fly into these fevered arms.
—Albert B. Casuga

* Poem Prompt: "Proof" by Luisa A. Igloria. Via Negativa, 06-04-11,

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