The Migratory Pattern of a Rare Bird

A fixed-wing aircraft generates 

forward thrust 

when air is pushed in the direction 

opposite 

of flight.

I can’t fly

I have come

to

       expect nothing.

I gather landmarks

         hip-width

flex and forage

           Head

East

always toward water

where thirsts are quenched.

Currently,

I’m on a current

It could lead me to you

or break me down

faster than the fear of this cold climate

I’m a Rare Bird

                                   \

Instinct (for the flight)

          I only aim to move forward

finding

all good formations

         Flock in

V

I crane my neck

         flee for foothills

hold memories

stacked for survival

in my

cerebral

cairn

The wind carries

what I cannot

I throw down dirt

for miles.