Fly then from the wide black water,
turn your back to the blinding sky
and flee the mob frothing at the edge.
This time the ocean didn't do it.
Your ache traveled with you,
and loneliness, like whitecaps,
spread to the horizon.
So turn into the cold wind,
north to the frosted woods,
and fly toward the calm
of snow against tree trunks.
Head for the hills.
