The Beauty in Things Ending

Through the mist above wailing waters 

hawks flying, wolves crying,

Fading to be as small as a quarter. 

Above all trees’ leaves and degrees

Lie triumphing trees

Standing tall above everything that is to be observed.

Bees buzzing like cicadas

On a smiling warm evening 

Just waiting for a chance to escape the garden bed.

A hawk is a singer

Dancing across the opera stage 

In an act of beauty.

Leaves as flakey as a crumbling cliffside

Beside a yellow beach,

Descending to the sand.