Flamingo was an iridescent feather
A whoosh of wind over lake’s rocks
Smelling of Siberia in lost thoughts
Lost lovers en route on Himalayas
Frozen feathers rustling in blizzard.
Flamingo is no longer ice but a wind
Frozen in the lake air,as in painting
Flapping wings of futility, in despair
About Siberian lover lost to steppes
Now taking a local lover in the lake.
A bastard flamingo will he be local
Or will there be a reverse migration
Spunk enough to cross Himalayas?