Messengers from the hyperborean regions bearing winter on their backs they seek the South now bright beacons of beak pulse in whitewash formations carved from Icelandic births, theirs an arrow-headed arrival falling through clouds and dusting the landscape like snow wing beats and wild whoops announce their coming we hail our visitors as heroes of the thousand frozen miles they have kept faith with the cycle like these migrants we too have harnessed the winds farmed out land to armies of white, shimmering sentinels electrifying air by the mere miracle of revolution all along the flight paths, the feeding grounds, columnar collisions, ever-ready blades for the execution
Lilian asks us to include ‘visit’ or its derivation in our poetics poem: “Leave the Porch Light On“
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