Calm settles upon us,

and the shrill of the night is

heard on both hemispheres.

 

In these four extant corners of convergence,

the earth, the wind, the fires, and the waters

melt into our virtual migrations.

 

Even as cardinal points make synaptic sketches,

with desert storms and monsoon winds in fierce clashes,

the centre still remains where we all belong.

 

We will trudge on,

through mist and fog, dust and dew,

under clear and cloudy skies.

 

From my differential desk of divergent words,

a periscope captures the fleeting motion

of us all, in this global feast of virtual migration.

 

 

Written from a combination of the two parts of Hour 6 text prompt.