Happy Birthday, Eleanor.

Before all else, nothing was coincidental. Each avian felt a deep, reflexive understanding of their place like guests at a numbered party table. Seventy-one of them, Eleanor counted in gleeful shock. She had almost forgotten the age she was turning. Seventy-one, she recited in her head. She clung to the number like a beloved memento.  


Alumnus of Earth

When the soul gets its diploma
And moves away from the little town they grew up with.
Will it ever grow homesick of the solar system?
Things do not die, but no graduation is the same.