and the bird has flown

and it is
the mildly painted winds
and stacked streets

i walk among the laboring
shadows, the scent still clinging
to the holes in my jacket.
the feet have no known
destination, and
so do my eyes.

it is the light
in the sky, that cuts through
the vacuum of her presence
and wishes to fill
the void, the reminiscent of fall.

but the rain ticks
turning my body clockwise
to the next course
even though her feathers
still calmly lay on
my clothes, the bird
who chirped the songs
of summer, has left us both.

her faint feathers
and silky silhouette
dives in with the waves
and swim on, to where
her heart belongs
but cometh the fall
and once again
will sing the bird
loud in mid-summer
a singer everyone has heard.

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