A single feather on the ground,
Laying still, each times found.
A voice to speak, each follicle
Pregnant stillness, life-side chronicle.
And hollow, as we go again
Each time, migrating.
Moving spaces, flying sparks,
The grey flecked with white.
What did it think, as it fell to the ground?
Lost its soar, kite-like motion.
And follow, as we go again
Each time, migrating.
Wings clipped, shift...
