Migration

Yesterday
flocks of starlings
took flight above us
twisting and molding
as if held together
by another force.
We stuck our faces
into the nighttime wind
and let it numb
our cheeks,
we glided through the dark.

Today
we are older
our limbs ache
with the echoes of yesterday
our minds yearn
to remember everything.
We know words will not save us
but we try anyway
throwing them outwards
like a safety net.
We look back toward the sunrise
toward the naked trees
but the branches are empty—
the starlings have already left
for their migration.