I am crow, on summer’s breeze
Glimpsed in joy with beating wings
To follow the bright sun’s leaving.
My feathers’ strong and hollow shafts
Are filled with the air you breathe
And the soft light of our reflected joy.
Remember this when dark and sodden bird
Hangs heavy, short-day’d in your tree of Ash
Asking nothing of your walk of log to fire.
Raise then your narrow gaze
And for a moment hold my own
Then pass into your tree-flamed cave
No-one sees behind the crow’s black looks
For writers do not live in winter trees
Freed, briefly, now, in soft blue union.
Write it now, before we both forget
As autumn winds engage our throats.
And winter’s ice, our memories.
©Stephen Tanham 2020
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit school of mystical living.
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