the last migration
nobody talks about birds
growing older
but here we are
sitting on park benches
bread crumbs in our hands
this sitting down is for birds
I say out loud
and you naturally agree
without speaking a word
it’s a warm winter’s day
and our shadows
are barely visible on the
black asphalt
like skinny icicles hanging
ever slowly changing
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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How sad
thank you Denise