by Dawn Paul, from the chapbook Refuge:

On the Ground, Alone

You catch the high wind above the sheltering trees
sift it through your outspread wing feathers
as though fingering a silk scarf
rock gently side to side, wings held at the perfect tilt
alert for the scent of something cooked by the sun,
or maybe just cruising the sky on this spring day
after the long winter.

When another of your kind comes kiting along
to drift by your side and you lift together on an updraft
I breathe deeply, fill my chest with air.

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