north has lost its allure
to the great unsettling

mist lingers later in the day
storms smell like the tropics

the sun cedes ever more
to thieving ravens

and shimmering on a far shore
that magnetic field

traveling so light
even the songs stay behind

but home has grown
beyond elaboration

mountains don brighter plumage
berries ferment like sunsets

first a mellow burn
then the whole of the night sky

dark and speckled
as the inside of an egg