on a day hanging in haze
the crow sits glum on a perch

do the flying pairs overhead
remind it of the lost mate
and in the midday lull
it feels a vacuous dullness
when even the search for food
seems purposeless?

i feel a stab of pain inside

whoever goes first is lucky
not so the one left behind

maybe the wings are now too heavy
for the bird to fly into the sky

From this day on I'll write.

Words that will linger on sleepless nights.

Hours from now it will soon all be done,
like the ocean slowly kissing the sun.*




© 2016 B.L.
All Rights Reserved.