Wing by wing,
They lift off
Into an autumn-scented sky.
Some honk farewells,
While some don’t say
Goodbye at all.

I used to think the birds left
Because summer did,
But maybe
Summer has a soul,
And when they leave us,
Each feathered body
Takes a piece.

So those aren’t birds
Skimming the tips of threadbare trees.
Those are hands
Buried in warm sand,
fireworks exploding,
Windows rolled down,
Sweet tasting popsicles,
and soft cricket songs.

I watch summer fly away,
Until the only fragments remaining
Are the snowbirds,
Pecking at frozen suet.
They are my memories,
Growing dimmer everyday,
As I wait for summer to return,
Wing by wing.