the million tiny voices of
                              the birds are only calls
                              calls calls calls in the
                              early evening air

measuring moments as wended time his way
he wearily came to realize this stream
is a dream.
helpful hands hold him here, her
present is a rock
from which they watch time.

she leaves and the world
surges in; bird calls and
whistles, fade out into
bird calls and whistles

                               moods pass
                                 like parts
                                of rainbow
                                under skin