Silhouettes
The sun had just reached over the hill and
the crows were muttering their approval.
As the departing stars scavenged up the
the birds’ black shadows,
a branch cracked under
the weight of so many thieves.
Like a sneeze they flew. A sneeze
that broke my one remaining rib. That crack,
the death of all
shadows,
then the eyes of the sun popped out.
