grayness

I'm living in the future
Making cold, bright birds of light
Their song is rather silent
But how graceful is their flight!

They have a tinny thunder
As they rattle in the wind
I reach and send them skyward
And they won't be home again.

...

They meandered like medusas
Through a high-cloud sea of air-
While we shared a fleeting "here"
They soon journeyed on to "there".