We have now all shed our summer plumes,

swapping them for winter browns, greys, black,


it being the time. The signals have been received.

Recoiling from the mundane assault of rain,


we brandish gaunt faces folded in against the

incessant push of weather towards them.


Our inner compulsions are beyond the elemental;

they send us out in our reluctant packs on these


mindless journeys, bunched like caribou, or penguins,

in ticketing machine queues, on station platforms,


praying to our watches, clawing in the dark miles,

navigating by a rhythm hardwired into our hearts.


first published in Avis, Issue 2, 2016



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