"I don't know where my soul is"

My soul has the memory of a tiny bird

Untethered, unprompted, flying, unheard.

Nonchalant, seemingly thoughtful pauses on window sills

Are just mini breaks to check on human loved ones from a different lifetime.

Or is it only a parallel timeline?

A husband in flat 403,

A mother in flat 501 after lefts two and rights three,

A sister and father farther away beyond my flight radius.

It's not in my nature to stay,

Too much meandering raises suspicion.

And after all I do have my own from this fate.

I wonder if this tiny bird ever feels the soul tie memory of the flightless bird,

The stationary curse of too much flying, too much stirred

If I, unmoving, can recall flight,

Can the flying recall the grace of staying upright?