This is a sub-tropical country on the cusp of Asia
Where vegetation reaches thirstily into empty skies
For a drop swallowed by the last bird of prey
Its majestic wings drawn South by the pull of an internal
Waves crash, caught in the same systematic rhythm.
Nature’s drum, a magnetic beating
Of wide weightless wings
Yet they are the sum of all strength and force
The seedlings from the Earth.
The hushing wind whispers secrets and desperate truths to listeners
through clusters of
But not everyone hears its magnetic wings.