‘The birds are usually lone adults or juveniles
that strayed.
They spend the majority of their lives at sea,
rarely venturing in sight of land ̶ sort of
an enigma for us to understand.
Fueled up at feeding grounds in the Caribbean,
and living off fat reserves, they glide up the Gulf Stream.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Eventually I stopped looking and starting rescuing
birds, a birder said.’
– W.W.
MY LAST ONE
The wind offers to relieve me
of my habits and other drugs if
my mind I let her feather.
Other, commonsensical folk
see it this way: ‘There’s a storm coming’,’
and close their windows and doors.
I leave cracks in mine, to let in
the wind that blows my papers about,
making me dash to save these
always being born: these I think
I’ll keep – as though my whole bay would crash
if I let go but one leaf
that anyhow belongs to her
who signed it but for a few to read.
My last drug’s the wind herself.
(from “The Gift Of Screws” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 