Black bird lying on the concrete, head tucked in, could be asleep. Above birds flock in one direction, in acrobatic displays, towards their destination. Twist and curl, soar and dive – this one may not have turned in time.
In a cacophony of desperate cackles they call.
Gather in an ominous swarm – black speckles on bare wintery branches.
A Hitchcock movie, waiting to hear, “Action.”
But this one lies on the concrete, head tucked in, could be asleep. Who will move him – erase the trace of his existence?