Without end or beginning,
in white hours I wait for you.
Near night I hunger for darkness,
shadows of lilting  swans
we plunge from cliffs of vertigo
into the gold dust of desire.
You are the hoarfrost of winter,
brilliant bursts of Autumn’s fire.
Solitary eagle above the mountains,
beneath your wings gentle streams
of infinity carry you to my shore.
Should you fly on to distant provinces
I will follow,
become  indigenous  to that land.



Birds of South Asia


42 thoughts on “Indigenous

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