Wings flutter, flapping for him.
Stillness settles—
a tireless, burning patience to shed them.
Dearest Caspian, the rain has passed.
The nest lies empty.
What do the wee hours of morning whisper now?
Predators circle—
death may come before
the exquisite nuptial flight.
Come, let us carve chambers in the earth—
the path to immortality.