My Inner Old One

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Birds cross the sky in covens,

this golden autumn-of-my-life.

My eyes follow their flight,

my soul quickening to the sound

of their honking admonition:

follow the predestined route!

Find your way home!

The Voice of My Tribe croons a chant

that murmurs on the breeze.

I feel the winds of change blowing through

the drafty chambers of my 

just-before-winter heart.

The Old Ones are telling me:

Time to open the door of the cage

and free the wild bird of your being,

the one you have been hushing

and placating with crumbs

for so long.

Free her with joy, and,

as her wide wings swoop and thrum 

across the shimmering sky,

traveling between the worlds

in the space-where-there-is-no-space,

along the-way-where-there-is-no-way,

heed the call of those wild birds.

They are giving voice to

 the longings of your soul.

Lift up that expectant, waiting life 

with the urgency

of not-much-time,

and, if you're ever going to fly again

as, once, you flew,

do it soon,

do it completely.

Do it now.