the crows came in
today.
beaks opening like
sweet black-leaved flowers
we watched as they passed
a crying black cloud
coming from some confrontation
defeated
and flying into the
sun.
and jet black feathers
fall
twisting like
ballerina-muses
imprisoned in
jeweled velvet boxes
Velvet is only a
silent
observer
doesn't take inspiration
lightly
and the crows
they scream his name
to the sun
waiting to recieve
him.
a lament
long resonating
over the hills
orders me to plumb the
depths
of my favourite river-bed
to turn liquid thought
to solid form.
i comply.
of course.
"we love in orphanages" i
found
and it's true
so i opened myself
shedding myself
as we danced the sun
down...
