Feathers Drift Down

feathers drift down from a dark gray sky 
one that promises a storm you can smell
a tempest you can taste

feathers drift down 
past the little white haired woman 
with the cigarette sticking out of her puckered mouth 
and the abnormally tall ten year old boy
the one who wears thin athletic shorts mid January 

feathers drift down 
and land on a fresh powdered blanket
that covers the streets
and makes the rooftops a lovely pearlescent white

feathers drift down 
and land on my palm 
I look at them 
ragged and bloody they are

from a distance they looked so peaceful
delicate and innocent

delicate they were
peaceful they were not.