Should we land on the same branch,
turn and caw my way.
I'll acknowledge our comradery
before you leave to chase the day.
I'll be the music of the birds,
a hidden meter lacking rhyme,
as you play the midnight raven
wheeling circles in the sky.
In the quiet of the evening
when all is calming down,
you be the great-horned owl.
I'll be the absence of your sound.