A black feather of a vulture
dances in the breeze
A door cracks slightly open.
Romeo barks up into the trees.
Motmot perches on a garden post and cocks his head
waiting for an answer to a question never asked.
The black feather, tied to the blue awning of the sky
twists and twirls and jumps,
but will not escape its bonds today.
I step under it and await my turn.