We don’t dance together,
We don’t sing like songbirds,
We don’t show off our plumage, 
We are only birds of a feather,
Stuck together, they say,
Like we were glued by an invisible gum,
And yet, who we are, are flocked birds,
Free to call anyone friend,
And we gather, over a coffee,
To estrange us from a lonesome place,
The art of making words count,
The seeds of thought, which when hurled
From mouth to a gapped space,
Decorates a face opposite you,
Which in one brief eternity,
Can launch as many as a thousand ships,
Each carrying a fresh cargo,
Of fizzing endorphins.