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Feathers

It’s as if all the birds
In every weather
Had dropped every feather
The weight sometimes
Of all those why's
A ton of lead
Or a ton of words unsaid
Down on a feathered bed
The weight belies
The width of squawks
When the birds are dead
And they sing remembering
When a ton of song
Weighed the same as
Fly away Autumns
Flu away fall
Feather or not
Bird at all.

Stephen Kirin

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Pollard Willows at Sunset

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Acronyms

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Solitude of Pines

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To Shed My Youthful Skin

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Oak Meadow

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Thoughts Beside a Stream

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Sweet Diatoms

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North Transept

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