Dauh Kun Lin

Startled crows made of greasy black feathers,

Opened their beaks, and—

CAW, CAW, CAW,

As they all took flight in unison,

In a flutter of grimy feathers,

Towards the crimson sky.

One single black feather,

Floats down,

Ever so gracefully.

Carried by the wind,

Forgotten by the crows,

Already far away.

Then—

A shadow fell over the grim city—

A filthy city filled with ominous and deformed buildings,

That seemed to grin crookedly at the empty street.

A lone figure appeared at the horizon.

Unnatural wisps of mist,

Encircled the figure.

He treaded down the street,

Swiftly, seemingly to glide as he

Stepped over flattened soda cans,

And the cracks in the ancient pavement.

There was no sound,

As the feather landed smoothly,

On the stranger’s outreached,

Expectant palm,

As if it were an accident.