He stands one hundred feet above ground,

on top of some 

abandoned building;

perched on the edge

of life.

 

His Arms bend in wicked ways, and

somber feathers tear

from porous skin,

 

His head crushes to be no bigger than

than a palm; a crooked beak

replaces the nose and lips;

his eyes worm to where

the temples were.

 

Legs break into place, toes

stretch, and from the back of the heel

pulls another toe; armed to carry

his small weight, and long body.

 

Letting go, 

and permitting the wind to 

guide him home;

all that remains

are shoes and tattered feathers.