The glossy raven-crow perches on the wire, Its carefully-preened wings glistening With perfect drops of moisture. It surveys its domain with coal-black eyes— Coal-black, but not void, not empty— Black with all the absorbed knowledge, The deep black of knowing too much, The tacit black of the extraterrestrial skies. The raven-crow omits a sound into the air, Silent to some, but volumes to others. The raven-crow spoke directly to the air, And the air understood the message. The two share the deeply-seated secret, So it’s not as much a burden as before. The sun falls into the embrace Of the curvature of the Earth. The raven-crow, having received its cue, ***** its obsidian wings once more, Sending crystal tears to shatter midflight.