It soars through the chilled air like a dying bird. It swells like the breast of a stirring sea. It cries out to torn ears. It settles itself upon my bosom and rests.
I am not your desert breeze. I do not fall upon your shoulders like razor rain. You are not my first song. Nor my last.
The days turn black like my heart.
These are the inescapable birds of prey. They snicker at my foolishness.