Poetry

The Night Travelers

Flying in the dark

Photo by Denley Photography on Unsplash

I have never seen nor heard them,
the night travelers flying in the dark
heeding an imperative
too elemental to ignore.

Journeying on wings
designed especially for them,
for their need is great and must be met
with exceptional means.

And because they succeed
(fewer each year, but some)
when I awake one morning in Spring
whether the day is shining
or smudged with rain,

birds I have not seen for many months
will be scratching in the duff of last year’s leaves
or singing from a newly budded tree,
too intent to give much heed to me,

nor my prayerful hands
nor murmured words of praise
for these determined migrants
who travel in the dark,
undaunted and unfettered,
casting their urgent silhouettes against the moon.