the prompt is change

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.