Travelogue

Halfway through the journey
You forget which way
You meant to go. You
Stop, and slowly turn toward
Each direction till you feel
A tug. It’s this way: North.
And though you dread the
Darkness and the cold,
You know by now it’s
Better just to listen when
You’re called.
You move through woods
And cities, mountain ranges,
Rivers, valleys, farms, and villages.
Through fox dens,
Rooftop pigeon coupes,
A beaver dam, McMansions,
Cardboard boxes. Till you reach
The Condor’s Cave where
You are welcomed.
You spread your wings
As though you’ve had them
All your life and you begin
The next leg of your journey
Soaring on­ the thermals,
So close to the sun you
Start to laugh because 

You worried you’d be cold.