birds take flight on a windowless night
but the crows
continue to gather
nosy beaked
wings, oil-streaked
they have no business among us
watching our eyes
laughter
silences our lies
and the den grows quieter
faster
without the heat
stalking pointed feet
one falls prey
after another
stolen eyes
long gone dry
the widow reaches for her master
gun in hand
sleeping sand
the crows do finally scatter