Feathered Kin
We met in the liminal
circle of stone on sand.
You followed the crows through rain,
I called the choughs from the cliff-edge.
We speak in a language of feathers—
pushing each other out of comfort zones,
laughter like the corvid’s call, four caws a warning
and our battle cry of sovereignty.
Now we walk chalk grass lands unseen,
claiming stars as sisters,
leaving charms in ash and samphire,
the door between worlds wide open.
