he sits lightly, grinning.
his silvered wings collected,
folded on his back,
chin resting on his hands.
patient, waiting, hunting.
souls are easy prey,
when you know how.
that's what he told me
when I asked why he had
suddenly appeared
across the table from me.
my wings flutter. they're new,
stiff. barely a few minutes old.
my silver painted guest
is smiling wider now.
something more than me
has changed