Trading for Doves
"One for sorrow, two for joy..." -- traditional counting rhyme for "black birds in a tree."
Let me find, Mr. Blick, a medium
That shows you why my heart is full of crows:
The inky oceanic wave-swells of wings in motion.
The saurian head tilt.
The barking hoarse calls full of omen and laughter and despair, half cheer, half jeer.
The swell and fall of them,
Murder,
Larger than murmurmation and smaller than unkindness,
The dance, making their partner the wind visible in ecstasy the way grief becomes a tangible person at precisely 2:38 a.m.
The occasional barrel roll. "See? I could be a raven. You don't know."
Stitching this tenuous city to the broad blue reality of the sky.
Bringing sorrow, alone.
Bringing joy, partnered.
Glitter-eyed.
And counted.
Let me find, Mr. Blick, a medium
That shows you why my heart is full of crows:
The inky oceanic wave-swells of wings in motion.
The saurian head tilt.
The barking hoarse calls full of omen and laughter and despair, half cheer, half jeer.
The swell and fall of them,
Murder,
Larger than murmurmation and smaller than unkindness,
The dance, making their partner the wind visible in ecstasy the way grief becomes a tangible person at precisely 2:38 a.m.
The occasional barrel roll. "See? I could be a raven. You don't know."
Stitching this tenuous city to the broad blue reality of the sky.
Bringing sorrow, alone.
Bringing joy, partnered.
Glitter-eyed.
And counted.