My wings are skin, stretched on bone.
The sun makes jewels of my scales, red, blue, gold.
Far below, the tiny trees waltz in the wind.
Against the sky of ruffled clouds, the black crows scatter.
Tiny sounds of church bells tumble up into the sky.
Small colored bits dance in random on a square.
A children’s playground, I turn downwind.
Folded wings, I whistle-drop to meet the ground.
I flare my wings.
I bullet swift to meet the children as they scatter, scream.
I clutch a girl, it waves its yellow hair and squirms.
Up, up, up, I flap.
It stares at me in silent fear, blue eyes swim in tears.
I nip off its head.
Down falls the head, a yellow dandelion in the wind.
I bite down.
The warm flesh drips long strings of blood.
The empty bag of rags falls away.