About 30 yards down the trail, I saw another feather.
And a little farther along, yet another.
Finally, underneath a tall pine tree, there were many feathers scattered all around.
I looked up and about, but there was no further evidence.
This is the poem of death.
There is only one
and no other.
Every one is an occasion,
one way or another,
and the last poem is this poem of death.
~ from "The Poem of Death" by Michael Gessner
Photos by BitterGrace
