This was written last Summer for a competition, for a gallery displaying art involving the subject ‘Crows’.
Nothing was heard, so I suspect, at best, its still on the wing!
I see you Crow.
I watch your studied nonchalance.
Your oil drip eye gives nothing back
green gleam on midnight feathers
steals surrounding light.
I know you Crow.
The trickster who can count
gifted master of the false feint
when paired and stealing food
from the unsuspecting.
I hear you Crow.
Not for you the Rook’s ‘Caw’
but a raucous shout for meat
with your ‘Pawk Pawk’
and your butcher’s beak.
I fear you Crow.
I feel your dark slow strut
feather ancient memory of the hunt,
the unknown made gravid
by the eater of the dead.
