Splintered thoughts welded 

by eternal breath converge 

into written word  

Vultures a circling, 

eyeing these old bones, but they'll

have to wait their turn 

Benighted and blind, 

hearing only echoes, you're 

bewildered by woe

Silk whispers slipping

across the leg like a snake 

with its red apple 

Once spontaneous 

now we dislike unforeseen 

phone calls or visits 

Bone-yard children gnaw

on meatless scraps and sharpen 

knives impatiently 

The sun deceives on

days like this when wind rattles 

the windows and doors