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To the beach, to the party,
to the nest after starting.

With our feet, with our feathers,
with our storms, to calmer weather.

Two birds stroll against sand,
pecking through trash and scanning the land.
Convinced with time they’ll soar like lemons,
in time, they’ll float to old hands.

Flip the sky, flip the sunset.
Flip the deck, have we won yet?

Dive to sea, dive to borders.
Dive through time, try to warn her.

Out walking again, these wings, we won’t need them.
We’ll be running.
With nothing again, these things, we don’t need them.
We’ll be breathing.

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