I listen to my heart,
and do not know
which wave is breaking.

I drift in ebb and flow
of moonlight.
I am crescent. I am full.
I am crescent again.

My heart washes out to sea.

I scan the stubborn vastness
for a sign. I still dream,
but no longer wait for anything.
Today is a winged day.

I sing with flocks
of luminous birds
clothed in moonlight.
I sing in the wild solitude
of my feathered heart.

Each night, I dream of birds:
Shadow. Refuge.
Infinite dawn.

A winged presence alights in me.

My life is a widening silence.
I am lost in the still roaring
swell upon swell upon swell.

I remember everything
and nothing. Light
shimmers on the water
until I no longer exist.

I lose myself in the horizon,
My wings open to a memory
of dark perfection.
I fly south.

I circle the eternity of the island.

Night waves.
Inconsolable ocean.
There is nothing
between my longing
and the sea.

I drift in the undertow of silence.
I gather seashells, seaweed,
lost voices.

I dream of unending circles of light.

A cormorant cries out
from the depths
of the unspoken:
its iridescent courage
its blue-black iridescence,
its unbroken wings.

I do not know
what is happening
to my heart.

Migrations. Seasons of return.
Wave upon wave upon wave.

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