In the transit time
When either the fog hovers
Or the cold air of winter
Rips through your flesh
First stand like a weatherwane
Then slouch as a rumpled scarecrow
Seeking vision through the dim light
What’s flocking together
Is not birds of a feather
But albatross and sparrow
Peacok, and egret flying in the shadow
Craning their necks
Against a wind not inscribed
In their hollow bones
A shift of pressure
Exhaling from the mouth
Of redundant times
Emerging from the fractals
Of cargo cults.
Pina Piccolo 7 January 2017