Photo by Greg Rosenk on Unsplash

 

On a morning when I did not wish
to open my eyes, because
with my first waking breath
the world was on my shoulders.
Sleep would not return,
so I looked out at a grey
and heavy sky.

As I sat on the edge of the bed,
still not wanting to begin the day,
a black shape slid
from the top of the pine,
and spread its wings.
Wings as wide as the garden space
between the trees,
its wise eye the size of he sun.
It drew me to the window.

I watched the shape, silent as shadow,
beat its great wings to the open sky.
Then it came real, the crow,
and the day became magical,
spent in the quizzical realm
of crow illusion.

January 2003