Winged creatures fully covered
in black robes, slowly circle
over my body and head.
I depend, on what they are:
If they are Angels then I am Nothing.
If Dragons, a solitary Stone.
If Aircrafts, a fearless Rebel.
If Vultures, a useful Carcass.
If Flies, a swine's stock meal.
I wait with large bunches of notes,
each printed as Hours and Days,
to pay them to strip their robes.
Their nakedness, holds
My true self.