Visitor

Dead in the center of the bed

Under the gaze of a bird at the sill,

Icy eyes glistening against the glass.

Into the blaze of dawn the bird flies.

Shed black feathers flutter in the wind

And clutter the perch where it stood.

Across the crackle of waking life

Come caws nasty, brutish and short.

Punctuation looking for a sentence end.

In the fade of the sun

In the rise of the moon

At the end of the day

Comes the end of its flight

Perched on a sill, it taps the pain,

Typing the period to the life now

Dead in the center of the bed. 

Illustration: "The Raven" by Gustave Dore, 1884