a silver bird flies low today,
wings dipped in evening’s blue-gray sigh.
i watched it circle once, then veer away,
toward a sky i wasn’t meant to fly.
the trees hum songs i almost know,
each note a breath too far to reach.
the breeze turns soft, as if to show
a kindness within my firm grasp—
but not for me, not here, not now.
a shadow falls where sunlight lay,
a warmth that’s gone, though never mine.
the river laughs its careless way
and leaves me by the shore behind,
as if i’d hoped for more, and stayed
too long beneath a fading line.
there’s something lost inside this air,
though nothing’s missing i can see.
the bird’s still flying, trees still there—
it’s just the wind forgot to care,
and left the world too still for me.
————————————
yet somewhere past the fading light,
a star still flickers, far but clear.
its glow, though faint, refuses night,
a whisper holding back the fear.
the silver bird may drift away,
but wings can turn, and skies can change—
perhaps tomorrow finds a way,
where paths that part might still rearrange.
