halftwo
Wird Batcher
Glinting wingbeats sounding against a drum-tight, blindingly-bright sky.
Criss-crossing the southern morning, quicker than the
Blinking watering eye screwed against the molten sun.
Silhouetted in zig-zags until a hairpin bend turns it below the
Trees' horizon and only the jagged memory remains.
Criss-crossing the southern morning, quicker than the
Blinking watering eye screwed against the molten sun.
Silhouetted in zig-zags until a hairpin bend turns it below the
Trees' horizon and only the jagged memory remains.