Crows Make Lugubrious Pen-Pals


I had received a missive

Or two like this in my lifetime already

Delivered on the beaten wings

Of a crow that disappeared into the night.

All night and the next day

And the following night and

The day after that I searched for that crow

Ambling over once verdant fields

Now turned brown and coarse

With the advent of winter

And subsisting on gorse

Only to find her perched in the ribcage

Of a winter-hungry tree of unknown species in my backyard

One tear and one tear only rolling down her cheek

Reflecting the tumbling world loosened from its axis.

I was here all along, you said,

Dropping the pen from your wing.


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