The Black Crow Walks Through Muddy Fields

 In the middle of the brightest day
There walks my shadow where daylight was,
Leaves muddy footprints with his clumsy boots
On city streets swept clean only hours before.
Flies into backyard, climbs steps to house,
Makes no noise as he rises to the bedroom invisible,
Private name inscribed upon the walls
 In ancient script, etched in the plaster,
Written with black-feathered quill.
No one reads anymore. 
That is why he walks with wide grin.
No one admits what’s there in the air—
We are all indicted for reluctance,
Shackled and maimed between repetition and obsession,
Blind innocence misplaced, divorced as though
Past can be erased from painful memory.
Shadowed crow knows where you are lost.
His yellowed unblinking eyes see everything
Wandering, sleeping through your dreams,
Seeking purchase of real estate inside
Your city of mistakes and error.
Pull the bow and let fly the arrow,
Still black crow will fly through cloudy sky,
Land beside decaying tree,
Stumble home in some other world
After thirty years of tracking you,
Watching you… knows who rules
Behind the curtain of reputation.
Your shadow knows every secret closet,
Comes silently at night or brightest day,
Claims his right, his due, his need to
Have a home, be recognized,
Named for the child you lost years ago,
Hesitant to baptize because you were ashamed.


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