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Summer 2006 Andrew Fader they can leave without a trace, like silence after knelling bells. Autumn supports such a sky, its rising plume of wings, its reckless disregard of order, smoke above a dirty flame, an offering of souls. The source of flight is nothingness. Air parts, wings circle and cut as they are given to. These birds sense fear. The sun hides behind them in respect. They empty the sky they filled. The earth they shade is holy, deep beneath the ground. Above, silence, whiter than all traceless flight, hangs beyond measurable time on wings outstretched like shields. |
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