poems about birds, vol II

And here I stand, hands
buried in
this place:
the very end
of the world
where the water and sky
cease to be two
and waves become whitecapped clouds
the birds swim through -
they are caught in the current of air
tugging, tugging
back toward shore
where the hungry waves
pull
the water back;
it is the tide that knits
water to land,
sand weighing down the waves
saying
remember, remember
where you belong.

***

I know why there are no clouds today
it is because the birds
have stolen them;
fashioned wingtips from wisps
of leftover storms, the
darkest roll of thunder for
every feather's edge
and white for their back
where they cradle
the sun.
they have borrowed the voices of
the wind as it
screeches around the corners of
my house and
whips the lake into
a hurricane
come back, come back,
they shriek
come back,
the fun's just starting
it's wild here,
don't you know?
and don't you want to stay
and watch?

poems about birds are my favourite kind of poems. any place where there's water and sky and winged creatures that glide comfortably through both worlds, I think there's a little bit of magic. where are your lovely, ethereal places?

xx,
Olivia