When the Night Birds Glow

Zenor approaches. The nightbirds glow.
It is time to prepare. We must go
to the mountain with the others and
wait for the light, as it is written
in the ancient stones.

Zenor approaches. More nightbirds flow
with the silent wind. They tell us—now
is the time. We must hurry up the mountain
to the place, before we end
and are left as burning bones.

It is very close. Many nightbirds throw
their fire feathers to the ground, no
more to fly. We, half-buried in the sand
wait for the light from the other end
to come, to purge our groans.

Zenor approaches. All the nightbirds glow.
Just hold me. There is no tomorrow
for us. But we pray tonight’s children
will find the new world in sintered sand
their place safe in crystal zones

until Zenor comes again with woe
for them, yanking planet to and fro
from dark to light, its fires fanned
in stellar winds, as if destiny planned
millennial moans.

When the Night Birds Glow

Our planet, soon will feel the blow,
the red dwarf sun unlocks its tidal tow
and we will spin to the fireside. When
Zenor swiftly comes every five thousand
years, nightbirds glow in the solar wind
telling us it’s time to go home.