Metamorphos Migrationary

There was the blonde girl slumped in the corner of the trailer. She crossed over, she transformed. There was the one laying in the tall grass who sat up suddenly. There was the man and woman silent inside a house in the middle of a field, it was not their house. Shuffling from kitchen to bedroom, sometimes they were in the bedroom together. Sometimes there were groups of them. The individual made up part of the whole, the whole took up the great wandering. What did they think of one another?
There was the lone one. A singular metamorphosis in the middle of an empty northern city. Stumbling under bridges, past vacant hardware stores. Hunched along the length of train tracks cut through great woods. When it snowed he sat under trees, sometimes he lay down and let it bury him. Boulevards of great houses marked his slow passing, snow drifting into open doorways. No one played inside with babies, no one brushed another’s hair, no one slept warm under the weight of wool covers.
Twisted wrack of live oaks, burdened with snow, sprawling over him one day, thinning into beach and sea. Lone traveler staring out over the foam driven expanse, ankle deep in snow. The great ribs of a whale, washed ashore there and jutting skyward, white over white. The white over dark of the gnarled oaks behind him. Welcome home, friend.