a crow's broken beak,

its half-twisted parch--

the grounds slow drink.

enmeshed in sheer swarms

of grass, oily pulpage of feather,

in-flight flailing of a nightlong figure.

carving the reign of its outspread crucifix,

an eyeless glint of a nocturnal center.

in a mansion whose white rooms wander

into one another, commending the symbol

of the crow's alchemy.

hang on the walls and fly.