February 4th

I am the sweet chill of a empty winter’s night. My memories reach beyond the blue depth of a pearly water. My moment here is simply a transit—a flight into the physical, a push through what is yet to come. Far beyond and further down, I float into the unknown and undiscovered, which I am. It is so, that those who hear me seek to know me, and yet I watch cautiously, enveloping them in my winged view. Brisk is all that I know, for when others warm to cackling fire, then drift to rest in moonlit slumber, I awaken to darkness—a reflection only of the night within. Keeper of dusk, steward of dawn, god of the night.

My home here is borrowed, a barn left to decay. Looking at my own impression in the weathered glass, just above a timber beam, I see deeper into this night that I am. Not yet will I fly, for I do not force. The wind will shepherd in my call, and the moon will show me time. The wait for patience, the practice of pause, has been my solace—no, wait, my cause. My face in the shape of a heart, and my heart embossed in presence, I become that which I once was: not separate from what separates me. I act in the embodiment of an underworld. I am the missing piece which I once could not find. Oh, yes, it seems, my talons kept me blind.

The flame that flickers me inside is where I go to ask and know. There is so much to be uncovered, for I am both: first, the blanket, then, the veil. Carefully attuned to the whisper of calm, my day begins when the sun goes down. From a soft and cloudy rest, I open to the quiet of life: the infernal drum of birthing anew, and the exciting ache of wanting more. All of this swallowed right before breakfast.

I breathe in, bringing each piece of me back into unison. Together, we become one, solidifying into forward movement. A gesture from the bestial self, there is now hunting to be done. The time has come for me to reach beyond what I knew. I fly West in search of new prey, blossoming into a new sense of self, and reflecting back that which is uncharted. A wave of easterly storms are bringing snow—frozen kisses from the sky, one by one gently layering the earth below. I leap from the perch I keep tidy, intuiting my path by internal navigation. In the midst of my search for daybreak’s feast, the densest of fog nudges me into a deep canyon. Caressed by evergreens and tall pine pillows, I breathe in a nearing body, able only to surrender.

Serene and slow, her waves of pearl and sunrise glow instruct me closer. Dropping onto the top of a rocky overhang, it’s me I’ve come to see. I ingest the orgasmic song of babbling streams nearby, finally understanding the depth of my search beyond just grub. This alpine ocean, this gentle surf. I cannot bear but be that which is in front of me. Surely, in some way, I am that, and that is me. I’ve known it not since beginning life in that burrowing barn, but a new hunger has brought me here, and in this lake’s perfection, I see only a bird called ‘Me’.

For one more breath, I soak in the blue I will not forget, and the tide that reminds me of birth. Onward I ride, the snow clouds joining soon. My tears of gratitude are simply no match to the storm just in brew. The cries from a cold mother mountain shift my direction, for now I must fill the caverns of my gut.

Upon scouting for the perfect snack, I pick apart what I thought I knew, and keep steady as my beak places me right above a shrew. It’s mine, and I have it—there is no rival crew. As I internalize the bliss of both magical bodies, I am filled with the gasp of good life, for my listening ears have translated truth. For long this introspection has given me answers, yet not once a question. But stopping here, in this new watered canyon, I finally come upon the inquiry to my previously observed knowing. It is not ‘what?’ and it is not ‘how?’ but simply, ‘who? who? who?’.