Black is Burned

The crow descends in silhouette
Trees scratch his name against the dawn
While last year’s leaves as yet un-swept
Declare the day in whispered scorn

And from my thoughts hang twisted kites
Which steal the night unhinge the locks
Their fingers search out every tumbler
Their tails jump-start the mourning clocks

His silhouette descends through boiling clouds
Calls my name across the dawn
The flock mark my passing and check my pace
I pick my beak with talon thorn

Breath condenses words from steam
Balloon thoughts here too soon dispersed
This music feeds my fever dream
Leaves me walking paths well versed

March 2010

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