Routes take shape
as flight takes root,
and lines of geese,
miming tide look
more like unbound
scripture, the past
that comes to pass.
With clocks turned
back, sky spells out
abandonment in
the hand of wind,
a pact between cells
when cold lays
down the law
and waves of wings
break on time,
inherent faith,
no different than
ours, leaving home
to find the way home.
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