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shadows imprinted in memory

an eagle's point of view
a symphony of green breaks
the monotony of sky on the
earth below,
sun, moon and stars pass overhead
with stories told but unsaid

vagabond bones on a dusty road
speak of time in a seed:
trees, rooted in dirt shed
seasonal leaves
like brilliant titles and musical
notes falling into human bodies
passing away the hours of memory.

We drift along elongated shadows like

Editing stage: 


i loved the line 'vagabond bones on a dusty road', really popped to me.
in the last S maybe you could elaborate just a little how we drift like rivers. seems like there should be something else there.

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