For six months, I have been waiting

The barren bones of trees

Showing soft hues of buds

The strength of daffodils to push

Upward through hardened earth

The anticipated sweetening of the air

As blooms with audacious colors

Open and release perfumed scents

And yet, I am walking alone

Amidst a new absence of sounds

Hoping that as someone passes

They will not release viral

Droplets from their mouths

To be downwind of another

Is to find me holding my breath

My head averted in opposite direction

We are alone in a collective waiting

Not for the gift we had hoped for

But for visitor Covid  19

To come and to go.

The migrants are coming

It starts in small numbers

They are crossing borders

They will not heed the warnings

They gather on wires and branches

Their numbers are swelling

They know that to be downwind

Is to have others ease their journey

They sing with abandon

To large and diverse audiences

They seek each other for close encounters

They flash obscenely rich colors

Saying, “Come to me, come to me”

Oh, my beautiful feathered friends

We welcome your arrival

We need you now.



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