I am crow, on summer’s breeze
Glimpsed in love with beating wings
Within the bright sun’s leaving.
My feathers’ strong and hollow shafts
Are filled with air you breathe
And softly lit in our reflected passion.
Remember this when dark and sodden bird
Looks out, short day’d from tree of Ash
Asking nothing of your walk of logs to fire.
Raise then your shuttered gaze
And for a moment hold my own
Before you pass into your tree-flamed cave
No-one sees behind the crow’s black looks
For writers do not live in winter trees
Freed here, in heights of soft blue union.
Write it narrow 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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