Calling Crows

        "Crow
         Grinned
         Crying: 'This is my creation.'
         Flying the black flag of himself."
                from Crow Blacker than Ever
                by Ted Hughes

The distant wings
The black coming of crows
A midnight of days
A dying sun
And suddenly, the birds line on power lines
Each silhouette pausing against the light
In wait, waiting
Patiently waiting…

Each year the headstone defaced
His name struck from the stone
His shame remembered
Now cast in bronze
To weather the blows
And she, still silent
So painfully silent.

The shadowed wings
Flap at the sound
His spilled voice
A bleeding song
As the crows, line on power lines
Each word a silhouette
In wait, waiting
Patiently waiting…

When the face in the mirror
Was no longer hers
Assisa too heard the hiss
Of Sylvia's blissful shrine
A breath in the kitchen
And she, still silent
So painfully silent.

The dying wings
A black growing inside
The falling feathers
A poet's ground
The crows calling, calling him
His name in silhouette
Is waiting, waiting
Patiently waiting...