A Nightingale Migrates by Thomas Ironmonger

Heat – where the river swells and flaps
like a flock of white birds taking flight.
Red – where the clouds with thunder
crack, and the sky’s cool gin mixes into the night.
Here – as drunken fruits fall and explode into
the furrowed orchard aisles as the dark forest crows inside
two slight lungs drink breath
to load the songs they will carry for miles; over the
hedgerows, over the stiles; over
the bright brown African roads.

From: http://cargocollective.com/nightingalepoetry/A-Nightingale-Migrates

Date: 2013

By: Thomas Ironmonger (19??- )

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