Waiting for the Fall

The flocks are forming to the north,
flying in the face of a hungry hunter’s moon.
This is a moment on the verge–
of a burst of bold wind
carving color from the mountain,
a glint of dark wing
shredding the edges
of yesterday’s clouds.
I sit between the seasons,
astride the fine line of morning,
waiting for shadows
and willing the wind.

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