Friday, February 09, 2007

Cold Comfort Crow

Obsidian black
Screeching like glacial ice
The crow

Crying like a koan
Talons pick at scabs
I didn’t know I had

Which is more tragic?
The constricting squeeze
Of certain answers
Or the black spaces
Of a question mark?

My heart flutters
Like dark wings
Rising from carrion

Which is more tragic?
The crow?
Or me?

1 comment:

Ronnie Larsen said...

"scabs I didn't know i had". that's something to think about. very interesting.