summer

summer deepens 

saddened by the news of yet 

another . . .

Death - still, the worst of all news to hear: 

Time, the bird; Time, the river 

you said we are birds of the same feather?

we are the feathers of the same bird, 

flying without a pause

Time, the bird

and we, each a feather 

to fall

in its time - a soft sigh, leaving silently 

or may be a violent sigh 

upon the violent stream that 

time may turn ~ 

Time, the river