May
falls like feathers

in a heated fight with pillows,
most people are not amused…

The wind smacks
fury through speculative green

The crows, confused, mistake
the milky roof for ruffled

bundles of bloom
Infanticide and famine

as pristine throats are slowly
fed by dutiful flakes

Blackbirds give up
control and deviate

their course

They had to cancel
the circus show for now,

but left the street lights hanging,
making a din of angry insect

wings. Fierce flakes
attack like surging waves

of killer bees. This year, your dowry
will be a pot of lethal honey

and a bitter tongue