leaves displeasure as an aftertaste,
Crow’s wings make the sound of weeping
as he flutters into rooms
cold with waiting.
away hope in his beak
black and bleak as winter,
nests in hearts lost to events
understanding cannot fathom.
He is the rolling ocean, white light
captured in the edges of his feathers
as he hides the leviathan that glides
through all our nightmares.
as he struts across branches
sends seismic shudders into the psyche
death is a wail, is the answer
to all our woe.