Today is a crow day, a day
Where I shall mimic
The winged coal, and pick
Deeper at the ground, do
They seek food ? Or is it
Purely to play their role ?

They do not nest
In burrows in the earth, nor
In homes made of dirt, but
They have found their place
In the somber alleys
Of some wrinkled face.

Today is a crow day, a day
To wear a beaked mask
Of prestige, to uphold
My place as a distant link
In the chain, a lonely son
Of shadows and liberty.

I have become fond
Of their mischief, the way
They coo on repeat
At passing dogs and other
Furry things, I think
They only wish to be seen.

Today is a crow day, a day
Where I shall yearn for the wind
And some sharp change
In the weather, I hope for clouds
To conceal my dull eyes
And my betrayed wings.

I have never seen them
Lose their obsidian gleam, are
They careful with their coats
Or is it luck ? Or perhaps
They are the directors
Of all things lost.

Today is a crow day, a day
To stare with guilt
And envy, a day to peck
At redundant trinkets
That lay abandoned
On half-built bridges.

Alas, I do not know much
About the crow, but I have
Noticed when they linger
And when they go, when
They tire and
When they cease.

Today is a crow day, a day
To be whisked into
All the chaos and glee
That persits
Through echoed existence
As this feathered fiend.