The Crow

The crow sat big - bold - black
in a leaf-less tree turning
his one khol eye toward sky.

Winter still in spring’s march
settled upon his perch
in a new snow - gale force wind.

Caw, caw, caw crow hollered
over the neighborhood
at nothing to my eye.

Black bird sitting in tree,
what is to make of this
loss, frozen inside me.

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