the sheet is heavy as rain
falls on the recently left bed
imprecise budgee flight, lucky
if the proper finished side
gets to the head. it's not a thing
with me. short stitch, long stitch
there are rules that don't have to be
followed. outside a storm, replete
with lightning flashing through
the open windows.
all last week on my way to work and
driving around at lunch a turkey buzzard
flew in the sky, not looking for kill
specifically, just soaring, alone in a draft
feathers spread to grasp ripples, holding
its place, circling slowly away
or meeting me at an intersection only
vultures know.
in the evening if i leave work early enough
i get to see high winter clouds pinking
in a carribean sky that doesn't belong here.
there is line of crows flying north
to south . if i get home early
enough i can watch the last of them
trailing and squawking and biting at each other
flying by like a line of music in the fading light.
i always wonder where they roost
what shelter can hold a three mile long
flock of crows looking, like the guy
on the corner of memorial and 580
for a bit of change.
