the crows came in
today.
with beaks opening like
sweet black flowers.
we watched as they passed
a crying black could
defeated
and flying into the
sun.
and jet black feathers
fall
twisting like
ballerina muses
in jeweled velvet boxes.

Velvet is only a
silent
observer
he doesn't take inspiration
lightly
and the crows
they scream his name
to the sun.
a lament
long resonating
over the hills
orders to plumb the
depths
of this river-bed
to turn liquid thought
to solid form.

"we love in orphanages," i found
and it's true
and i opened myself
shedding my self
as we danced the sun
down....