nonchalant

chilly autumn air
but the sun still throws its rays . . .
nonchalant, these birds

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grows quiet

white wing dove flickers
on a dim sun horizon . . .
the moon grows quiet

slowly drifting

I watched her smooth glide
under the cloudy fall sky
and, slowly drifting . . .

their bright calls

after the thunder
a brilliant crease in the clouds . . .
kites make their bright calls

tweets and tweedles

passing sycamores
filled with bird tweets and tweedles . . .
clouds lit high above

straight from

dropped straight from the sky
the plunging feathered bee, floats . . .
hovering to feed

wire

two doves on a wire
and they seem to be a pair . . .
one is on the wire