Crows On A Rainy Morning**

It’s a rainy morning
since you’ve been gone,
the grey consumes and I just moan.
Crows visit and circle my home
with their mocking caw, caw
cawing me, calling me,
while pecking my eyes, reminding me I’m alone.
They gather on the Juniper,
on my clothes line tearing the shirts of mine
you always wore,
offering me dropped black feathers
to build a dream catcher
so I can relive all the nightmares
of losing you.

Mornings use to be alive with the scent of you,
singing our old songs as you dressed for the day
while I made us coffee, strong,
rich and dark, the way you liked it
and we would sit under the oak
down by the stream.
But first, always first
we faced in all directions one by one
giving thanks to the rising sun,
to Grandmother for another day,
to Grandfather’s balance.
On most days we listened to the river
singing songs to the trees,
hear strange tales of deer playing tag with
wildflowers and dandelion.
Sometimes the old back bear would come by
showing her cubs how to fish.
I will remember these days,
hold them to my heart.
They were days made by you,
by your touch on my face
as you leaned into me,
by your sandalwood scent.

Now, years later, it is a cold,
rainy morning as the grey consumes me
to its moan.

Aztec Warrior/redzone  9.28.16