I slip on a pair of fingerless gloves,
watch as my breath emanates into the
air like smoke rolling off a forked tongue,
there is that dull throb pulsing in the
base of my wings again, a deep seeded
fatigue that pools in the leathery tissue,
a lack of warm blood to stifle the cold.

I watch a murmuration form from above,
each body moving in a different direction,
all simultaneously grouped into a shadow
yet none of them ever run into each other,
they never morph together, never bounce
off and crash down to the Earth below.

Call it spatial recognition or individualism,
a group effort ensures survival, does it not?
Every system has its hidden rules to follow,
but rules aren’t made for every type of flight
some of us don’t have a herd to encompass
some of us are too dangerous for that right.

– B.

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