they cross borders we cannot cross
the North Star alone their compass
even caged birds know this stirring
when beginnings feel more like endings
when the Arctic summer arrives early
they cross borders we cannot cross
non-stop, star-struck, moon-bound
burning muscles that beat their wings
even caged birds know this stirring
the Eastern Curlew breeds in Russia’s swamps
estuaries, harbours, lagoons & marshes
they cross borders we cannot cross
where once a wetlands nursery
now shrill steel and concrete’s conceits
they cross borders we cannot cross
even caged birds feel this stirring
