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