Winged thing,
bruised blueprint,
longing inked into bone—
how does the sky taste
when you flee instead of follow?

I have seen you—
a breath stolen mid-exhale,
a contradiction unraveling,
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
you call it survival.
I call it the ache of knowing
you were never meant to land.

what is wisdom
but a body fluent in exile,
a home that never stays?

tell me—
when the air stills,
when silence sutures your shadow to the dirt,
will you miss the flight,
or
only the myth of almost arriving?

weathered planks stretch
into the mist, salt-worn
and stable. seagulls cry
overhead, unseen

boats come and go, their
ropes wrapping around cleats
for a moment of respite,
picturesque arrivals and departures

almost home, at a pause —
a place to breathe
between waves, to mend
sails torn by wind

when the fog lifts, they
depart. the harbor remains,
in the liminal space
between land and sea

REPOST:
A new study seems to think
alien signals could be emitting
from the heart of the Milky Way,
attempting to make contact
with humankind.
The study focuses on the use of data
from a groundbreaking mission
known as the Breakthrough
Listen Investigation
for Periodic Spectral Signals
(BLIPSS),
Earth's system looking out
for outworldly life.
~~
Please dear E.T's mine beloved
Return now it's time
take us the open-minded home.
At Last Stand by me
and What a wonderful world
I miss you love you.
~~~