A poem
The Crow
There is violence inside the cranium.
Thoughts and worries convulse
Like dreams in a butter churn
And one dons winter coat
To wander down the cobblestone alleyway.
Each snowflake, tortured yet proud in its uniqueness,
Joins the avalanche that sifts slowly through the sky
To gather on houses and churches
Whose chimneys and spires reach toward the heavens,
Begging, beseeching, imploring:
“O let us stand cavalier,
Pushing into the new spring
Like a train rounding a curve
And emerging at last from the fog!”
The crow stands on the eaves of the corner building.
In her corvid genius she astutely pities
The men who trudge below.
Matters of the sky are far more profound,
Manoeuvres no longer limited by those two profane dimensions
Which the flightless traverse.
The possibility of moving upwards and downwards
Reveals to the birds a frame of knowledge
That humans can never access.
The crow flies away.
The new day will come and with it hope,
But the citizens of this earth are forever doomed
To be stuck in the snowstorm that lurks
Like clocks falling from the sky,
Sounding hour after hour until they hit the pavement
And shatter into two thousand pieces.
There is violence inside the cranium.
Thoughts and worries convulse
Like dreams in a butter churn
And one dons winter coat
To wander down the cobblestone alleyway.
Each snowflake, tortured yet proud in its uniqueness,
Joins the avalanche that sifts slowly through the sky
To gather on houses and churches
Whose chimneys and spires reach toward the heavens,
Begging, beseeching, imploring:
“O let us stand cavalier,
Pushing into the new spring
Like a train rounding a curve
And emerging at last from the fog!”
The crow stands on the eaves of the corner building.
In her corvid genius she astutely pities
The men who trudge below.
Matters of the sky are far more profound,
Manoeuvres no longer limited by those two profane dimensions
Which the flightless traverse.
The possibility of moving upwards and downwards
Reveals to the birds a frame of knowledge
That humans can never access.
The crow flies away.
The new day will come and with it hope,
But the citizens of this earth are forever doomed
To be stuck in the snowstorm that lurks
Like clocks falling from the sky,
Sounding hour after hour until they hit the pavement
And shatter into two thousand pieces.