Lacking patience and in a tired state,
I flew from these abandoned scraps that I once called a nest.
The cold air just made me more afraid
That once I made it to my old home I’d still leaving was for the best.
But I’ve grown tired of fleeing.
Now it’s all I know.
In the palms of a feeder,
With exhausted wings and unsure of where to go.
And I think about the lovers who’d write their names in locks to leave them
At the Queensboro bridge for the runners and their peripheral vision.
And I think about that love painting the city like graffiti,
And It makes me miss you so much that my heart begins to hurt.