Eyes worried, my former co-worker
stands outside
the county building.
He bemoans the budget, continued
layoffs, disappearances
of old friends.
Fluffy flakes begin to fall.
I lean to catch one
on my tongue, stop short—
they are down feathers.
We glance up,
spot a peregrine falcon
on a low tree branch.
The raptor clutches
a pigeon in its left talon, rips
flesh with hooked beak.
There are young to fledge
on a tower cornice.