Flight Pattern 


I once knew what they are called.

In one short reach

I could satisfy the



But my arms are wrapped

against the cold

spring wind, the wind

that funnels the small birds

above my head.


In groups of four to six

they playfully swoop

and dart.

From the small openings

in the high dunes,

out into

the soaring wind,

and back home again.


Back and forth,

to and fro;

following some

ancient evolutionary



Like the friendship

I have on offer,

that is too simple

and consistent

for your fickle,

uncertain heart.