Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Hopeful Mourning

Feathered omens overhead
caw caw, slicing slack
souls in overcoats

wandering snowbanked
sidewalks. Every window
darkens. Ghosts fill the sky

and silence the sidewalk
with cumulus skin—white above,
white below. Behind the frosted

window panes, the living hover
round hooded candles,
interceding for the deceased.

Silence saturates all.
The cacophonous caw
caw cuts the sentient.

“O holy murder of crows!
How we mutter under thee!
Mercy, mercy, for the unseen!

Help them homeward. Set them
free!” Feathered spirits snuff
the candle wicks. Pungent

blackness. The sky is clearing.
The streets are melting,
blackness. All lights are out

tonight, and hope for bluebird
chirping rests upon our
eyelids.  Hope for morning.

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