End of a season

-

It's always I, me, mine
But never they, them, theirs.
Why so? Unitary and solo
Standing back feeling hollow.

Watching the Swallows,
Martins or Swifts swoop
Declining level ripple seed
Splashing; dividing time.

From morning to morrow
While from the furtive breeze
They borrow lives; temporary,
Until the water bloats.

And they flee in another
Looping gliding hurry
Troubled; the river boils,
Creeping upon its own flotsom.

Moment movements
Ousted; fin de siécle,
Jettisoned fragments
Pushed beyond recall.

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