I meet her under a balding light
And her eyes are grey pebbles.
Can birds smile? Because she- slowly- does.
She is the vulture who
Plays with her food before she eats it.

And the moment our babbling begins
I wish to paint the river white,
Because I both can and can not.
I made to hop in- to drown myself,
But that too, I’ve forgot how to do.

Still, I squirm and writhe helplessly:
A lethal interrogation, for hidden
In the dull sheen of her feathers lie
Sweaty secrets turned ammunition-
When did this party become so crowded?

And who would ever guess,
That once we circled and dove together?
But I have changed and she remains
The lonely vulture who
Plays with her food before she eats it.