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