she wasn’t fond of crows
or the caw of his voice
overbearing, cocksure
pecking at her speechless
with his eyes
yet she hand fed him
sacred seeds of her soul
one by one until
it lay dormant
cold pressed and hardened
he foraged still, for scraps
while she fell into the light
and herself again
his metallic iridescence muted
raven ways fading far
from her memory
but crows, they say
never forget a face
Happy New Year! I’m your host for our first Open Link Night of 2022.
Feel free to join us at dVerse Poets Pub.
Image: pixabay.com
mishunderstood 