How Can I be More Like the Sandhill Cranes

by bobbymillerwriting

who were, like me, also born in the sandy counties

of central Wisconsin, but carry a piece of tundra beneath their wing.

 

Who move like they know the land

flying their annual pilgrimage for that privilege.

 

Caught with open wings we found them,

necks stretched outcurved back and forward

 

again, dignified and stark lines, now escaping, writing

we know precisely what we are doing here

 

across the horizon. These cranes attend to the business of living

elsewhere, but once a year follow cryptochromes

 

without the guilt of leaving home behind.

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