Flyway


These days it seems to me my body is more like a flock of birds than I previously realized; making and unmaking itself, bound by some agreement the terms of which I can only guess at from the ground - my self somewhere in all the feathers or the air between birds.

And my movement feels less like one creature walking, more like a murmuration...

maybe every bird knows where we're going, collectively, or none of us know. Maybe as we travel each bird thinks; ah, yes, yes, this - just like I remember,

or no single bird remembers.

It's strange to be so loose. It could be scary, and it is, but for the way it feels so true;

and safe but not true is not safe. So - I'm a flock.

Maybe you're a flock, or a creature walking, maybe you're a hive or a range. Maybe your shape is just what you hoped for, maybe it's easy to strut about town.

Maybe it isn't. I'd like to see it. I'd like to watch as you're made and unmade.

I'd like to watch you move.

I'd like us to create passageways for one and other. I'd like yours to influence mine - the way it warms the air and lifts me, I'll sow seed

along your corridors.

Let's make a world we can move in

free and useful, as we are.

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