you who have flown south south-east;
I wave a scarf at the horizon
where you disappeared.
The flute quiets the transplanted soul
while the owls are near tonight.
You abandoned your past
like coils of fishing net,
torn beyond mending.
Come back and pull me close.
Let your eyelids close me into your thoughts.
I will learn to map you and find my way
past old voices that inhabit your body.