Mandatory Migration

We move in and out of each
others lives like the seasons.

Something always seems to stir
and my emotions fly back home
from where they've journeyed
in search of warmth and safety.

For a time skin bronzes and sweet
smells hang on the air, but the light
always begins to fade until I know
trees will no longer hold their leaves.

Before the snow falls I wander
away in search of something
more, unable to bear the ghosts
of blossoms littering the ground.

Even as my heart opens its wings to
perch elsewhere I know the winds will
soon bring smells of honey and cleansing
rain, and my role in the cycle is compulsory.

-- 4/21/03