Crow awoke
awoke
with a croak
which is to say –
he sang
sang for a new day
it was
his black-feathered way
to croak in the new day
to croak the sun
along its way

and to think –
he is a songbird

him

with raspy, salt-water tongue
bleak of eye
bleak of heart
yet he sings just the same
great guttural cries
that paint hope with a wire brush
tearing the tissue canvas
proclaiming bleeding beauty
is not the sole purview
of the soft-eyed warblers
there is another breed
that screams the sky awake
that howls heaven into the here
into the now
there is pain song that brings peace
there is an old voice
there is
there is crow