Many birds sojourn south for the winter.
My heart travels with them.
The cold in my bones,
holding my soul hostage–
in a paralyzed skeleton of ice.
I wish to take flight, too,
and travel with them
where there is sunshine.
To take part
in aerial conversation
over a geography of familiar patterns.
My permanent condition holds me,
frozen to a state.
In the dead of winter.
One day,
I may sojourn.
The bars of my icy prison broken,
Cold snap.
Flying toward the horizon light.
