[Deer Park, October 13, 2011]
Lone loon southbound, stopped over last night,
To sing us a sad, wild tune
Harkening our own voyage south.
Geese gone, flight ducks dribbling in,
The north turns silent, hunching its shoulders
For winter bearing south like a Mongol
Horde intent on domination,
Our escape in the nick, prescient.
Unlike creatures migrating, we feel
Guilty, our journey from, not to.
East winds serenade us, send us thither,
Below the Bridge, to sirens, smoke,
Sound beyond control, traffic lights,
All that crapola left five months ago
For for such quiet you can hear each fall leaf fall,
Hop across the porch zephyred
Like us, driving south, two refugees fleeing.