Clouds wander across a sky that is home to winged creatures with beaks and claws. The retired cop is unaware that he is waiting, that he is wanting dignity to descend in the way a helicopter sinks to earth. His beer is flat, a game begins, the opposing team wears rust-colored jerseys. Through his window comes the sounds of traffic and sirens and slamming doors and although birds call, they remain unanswered as they are unheard. Yesterday he spoke with his former partner. On the sidewalk a pigeon pecked at discarded melon as memories of the shift they nearly died flickered between them. And who knew original dislike and minimal trust would become a lasting relationship? Meanwhile Brenda has let herself go, claims it’s the pills, and he wants nothing to do with anyone’s anger most especially his own. The animal and the spiritual are so little understood although buddhists live among us contemplating former incarnations. Here is fantasy and there is labor and why shouldn’t we prefer to float above all the anxious noise?