. . . The years have flown behind us
in the headwinds, our lives flapping
like the wings of sea-birds, or jets.
We land in familiar places,
sleep together under the cool of a window
that opens onto brick houses and sheep.
–excerpt from “Travellers” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective, Chicago 2013). First published in North 49.