Florida | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
Crickets. The occasional dying
cicada. Today, just at dusk,
a V-line of birds too high
to identify were heading south.
Days were when south was
any direction a young man went
that was away from where
he didn’t want to be.
Now, all it signifies
is where we go to live a little
less, warm windows, exotic
birds that never leave.

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