when he saw the white bird fly
his child,
that would soon end up like him,
stole two golden coins from
his dead eyes

he was lost within four years
after his wife died
he often stank of ashes
he stole fortunes,
hid them beneath the stairs

i heard his gypsy song yowl
through the predawn,
his ghost came like a blur,
smearing the night
flapping wings and feathers
against the storm