Falling Words

We reach for the sunlight,

as it

leaves us shadows

of the mountains

in the meadows. 

We look for 

the milkweed,

floating

in the late evening,

sunlight hitting them

the seeds glow, 

like dreams spreading.

We hear the birds,

calling as they

follow the sun and

as the moon rises,

we call after them,

thinking maybe

we should also

be leaving.

The hills are turning,

but we are still

unmoving. 

The warmth we have now

will carry us,

hold us through the darkness

that will come.