Crow

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And here he comes again, a leap, another,

Then skittering bright across the muddy puddles,

His beak adorned again with dripping gore.

I know it's him, the one who stayed in my attic

Last winter after the blizzards killed my trees.

He was a decent tenant, kept to himself.

I know it's him, the one who danced the Charleston

Around the wires after last night's cloudburst,

His morning song for stranger days than these.

He seemed to dance for sweet oblivion,

As though it were the missing ingredient—

A nevermore, nevertheless.

And he's the one who stood there all week long

Where the river bends psychotic, awaiting an answer,

His yearning cry simmering in my blood.

Will he remember me, his closest stranger,

His fellow guardian of this, the world

Of middle distances, from birth to death?

Let everybody know he gave the breath

Of life, his tears return to heaven, heaven—

The black hole heart of galaxies. To heaven.