Through bleary eyes I hear migrating birds <br />at morning. Over meadows, down into <br />the valley of my ears, they follow words <br />whispered in dreams. And only for this do <br /> <br />I keep faith in the alchemy of rays. <br />They will return when ice breaks in the river, <br />when my mind sinks in the mud of May’s <br />tadpole-like embryo, flock to deliver <br /> <br />their paeans over my salt and pepper hair <br />as I rise from the shadow of their wings, <br />my thoughts entangled in a spider's lair, <br />groping to overhear a bell that rings.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/migrations-2/
