Migration

When birds become blind
do they
reconstruct the sky?
Blue piece by
blue piece.
Puzzling over
a forgotten horizon.
Lost in a memory
of flight.
They sigh
small heartbreaks
escaping their cages.

Sparking

How I long to see

the electricity

spring across

the tops of the

pine trees

like masts at sea.

To hear the hum

of the northern lights

and face the closeness

of the stars as

they whistle down

upon us

to light up

your smile