Nothing is unreal as long as you can imagine like a crow..
A crow arrives on my roof
riled-up. Her carping tongue
rather poignant. Something in the desert
will not come or begin. Her partner or the rain.
Either way, she knows I understand — when
long ago, I landed in the village stocks
for my affair and feminist tongue. A dark night’s stay
on the lip of a wilderness. The Summer air
was salted with thirst, and I did not linger
to watch morning come or hear the wash women
gossip about a young man
who had bookmarked his bible
with fragrant herbs from my yard. Whose whispers
flickered with a lover’s heat.
When the sun rose, the last shadows of the last
hour departed, they found him fingering
the black feathers of a bird — just a few
scattered near the pillory. Her molted plumage
the same color as my hair
and scented with lavender, the most intimate plant
in my garden.