Flying Solo

Honk, honk, honk: we are flying solo,

pumping hard, hoping for the winds to change,

working endlessly. Our wings are battered,

beaten by the battle with gravity.

But still, we find enough energy to call,

honk, honk, honk: hear me shout,

hear me seek you out, you solo flyers!

Let’s boomerang, this wide world over,

following the sun and the currents and the

honk, honk, honks of whoever is at the head

of our formation. Flump down when our

winds are gone or we’re just too tired. And

then clomp, clump, slump, pump, pump, pump until

we rise again–out of grace,

but not yet out of time.


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