standing out on the windless edge
swallows cutting shapes in pellucid air
it's a wonder
that i don't watch them forever
their shapes fall through branches of burgundy
streams of spilled wine
landing onto the soil
with the noise of enigmatic silence
it's a wonder
that i don't stand there forever
i leave
and i forget about their shapes
but it happens once more
and i stay a while longer
i notice the shapes fall not in a pile
but indivisible
times passes
and when i go back out to the edge
it's windy
and the swallows are gone
and i wonder
if i've learned anything
if someday i'll climb down
to pick up the shapes
as one indivisible whole