Seventeen

pictures, songs, fell in my lap

from an old manila folder,

fall leaves drift,

fighting gravity,

scattered in pant folds,

across this pine floor.

from the corner of my eye

a small bird escapes summer

stares curious from the maple rail

of a second-story bunk,

yellow wings stretch time,

blurring forgotten wrongs.

flickering tail balances this present

on that present against a final future.

evermore or nevermore?

an unlikely question from a songbird.