I am a
flash of obsidian against
ice-blue January sky.
I gather
with my cronies in the crook
of a dead elm, telling
raspy voiced
tales loud enough to wake
the dead. I am
fat and sassy,
picking at roadkill
impaling you
on my cold yellow gaze
as you drive by
My cousin raven brought
the sun back once,
I seek it now
in all that’s
shiny. I reflect
light, I carry
shadow. I am
the wings of wisdom,
the cackle of curiosity,
I am waiting
to pop your illusions
with my sharp, sharp beak.
