it was an odd weekend.  i painted a shoe,
watched incense burn
and watched coffee
grow cold. i thought i heard
huge wings settle over the
fireplace chimney.  and sure enough,
there was a huge buzzard sitting there,
also watching,

watching my life grow cold.
there were noises in the shadows
like breathing, a single feather floated
down inside the chimney
in slow motion, like a fragment
of a black silk veil
full of grace.

i knew there was something secret
under those wings.
i watched how she unfolded them.
i watched
and listened
to what sounded like the wind
rustling in the leaves