Crow

Dear crow, with your cold, shined wing. I never see
the goldfinches, the robins, the chickadees, the stellar jays,

only you. Only you, with your cackles, your
folk dances, invisible hurdles you are maneuvering,

sudden launches, lithe, and pillow fine landings, your hands
gripping the spider web of cables that stretch from Snohomish

to Odessa, you are everywhere. All at once,
one hundred versions of you leap into the air,

like a black wild fire! A storm of onyx, an ebony deluge
that is seizing the peaceful blue day, and sending death

a marching across my mind. I see my loved ones, long passed,
in the obsidian cloud swirling, harking laughs

echoing across Aurora Avenue, slick eyes wide, beaks
stabbing at the bone housing my heart set on the lonely island

of this mortal life. Yes, yes I know, that one day,
I will be a morsel, dust of the earth. You’ve instructed.

Crow, I have dreams of you, inside my bedroom,
speaking in a human voice. You are always uncommonly kind.

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