From the harsh strains on the wind
a small harmony is forming
and it calls him, blackwing
to settle on the wire
to watch the many majiks
take a form to suit the day

unmoved by  the story
growing tenfold stronger
in the moment of the witness
she kneels to pick up
the still still birds; delicate ******* and feathers
still remember the endless flights
their faces soft and sweet.

out into the sunny space, outside the house
and near the river
she rests them down upon a stone.

by means unknown except in riddles
her heart engages the spell that
everyone carries but few can see
and makes from the dear dross
castaway of this life
the golden floating mantle that will bring us
comfort for a time before
it becomes the brightest light as it
was meant to be, for that is where
we all come from; that is where we go

crow's heart is full: he heard the calling
this is the song he is meant to sing!
where to start? and how to phrase it?
everyone must hear! everyone can already feel it
warmth that drives away the darkness
lights the place of hate and confusion
the majik that we all wear
the golden mantle here and now
it is a round and all will sing
crow leaps up, and without a thought of failure
he falls into the sky