THE CONFIRMATION

The shadow of

something feathered

flashed

among the weeds 

and gravel 

in my backyard.

It was there 

for an instant only.

Confirmation came later

like a ricochet.

The cawing 

said, I am Crow.

THE CURTAIN OF CAMOUFLAGE

The thing in front of the thing

really isn’t the thing.

It’s just camouflage.

Just more smoke  

and mirrors.

A sleight of hand

that yields no magic.

An avoidant strategy.

A way of not looking at 

what’s glaringly there:

a loneliness,

a need, 

that’s hard to face,

and impossible to resolve,

if the solution is sought elsewhere 

and outside a self

that does not see the soul 

as its true looking glass.

THE QUESTIONS

Grey branches

are a lattice against

an overcast sky.

Green leaves

spin like pin-wheels

with every gust of wind.

Crow unseen 

caws her dark question

into every corner of the day

not expecting answers

but more of her kind to come unseen

with even darker questions.

 

BIRDHOUSES 

birdhouses 

along a trail

made by 

those who 

frequent these 

hills, my thoughts

are the birds 

that disappear

into the little boxes

to roost inside

and stay there

remembrances

I can’t forget

when I climb

the winding path 

I now walk 

alone