a weaving trail of leaves blown by
a simple sound unheard
in a pile of dirt and grass I spy
the feather of a bird
and further on up the trail
in shady greys of weather
a familiar patterned friend
the bird of the lost feather
in a dance move unseen
and motions never sighted
I hand the feather to the bird
the two are reunited
at once the greys drift off
as we both look at the sun
the bird with all his feathers
fly's off whole as one