From my play book – Where do all the birds go on Halloween?



A letter is holy. A story
is holy hands reaching out into the world.
Birds come home
across distance I can’t conceive

and live in their bodies.
Ash in the air. Every place I’ve been
is on fire with words.

One day
I throw away all my love letters
without noticing. Mountains

in the heart.
What belongs
to me? I leave the world
all the time. These arms, these

fingers, this tongue, these feet,
and their bent wings. I know
it will be dirt, the prayers

now in marrow will retake
earth. I will live inside whatever flies
Burning, the brink of all things.

by Eireann Lorsung from Music For Landing Planes By: poems

It’s cooler today and lots of birds are calling back and forth to each other just outside. On days like this I hear a line of a poem in my head over and over. “I will live inside whatever flies.” Meanwhile my red raven appears in the night. Happy Halloween! Don’t let the goblins get you tomorrow!



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