184
birds dance in the air
and on the ground,
free from haunting memories
that litter the grounds,
the feathers color,
smooth smoke.

184
watch as a plane
passing over head,
waves its wings
in salute
to the day
these birds crashed.

184
wings stretch,
they cower
or they bravely face
remembering
one side above all
from the five.

184
of them tell their stories
through the slow,
trickle of water
they whisper
their secrets
through the leaves
of the trees.

Each row
a year,
each wing
a bird,
each name
a story,
a journey
never to unfold.