No words so perfect
as the crow.
Although I try.
to verbalize
the changing color
of its eyes,
the widening circles
of its calls,
the syllables
deny me. Only
crows can fly
on wings so black
they’re light. And words,
well I adore
those, too, the wrestling
with, the humbling
by, but moreso
I do love
(oh hush)
the crow.