Flying is your true home, words
scribbled on a subscription card
and slipped inside these pages as a bookmark.
More like a semaphore that translates as:
sorry I’m busy, need to migrate,
lay a clutch of eggs on a rocky cliff…
So much sails into an ellipsis and is saved for eons
amassing storage costs. One little card
won’t make a big difference.
So what was anonymous thinking when she/he/they/it
forsook said paper between pages 65 & 66?
A memory saved
is a memory earned.
A place where everything begins and ends,
the same way you know due north is the star to follow.