its eyes were black its beak was black and its feathers were black . it had been dead for a long time and i thought that by now it must be black on the inside
i watched it from a safe distance . i had been watching it for some time . i had killed it and hung it on a cross and it had not come back and i was starting to believe it would never come back . i could still see it when i looked away . looked away and looked back it was the same black . still . the same black still as the spaces in between the stars
its wings were black and its tail was black and its talons were black too . everything was black . it could have been a crow or it could have been nothing
Contemporary Verse 2: The Canadian Journal of Poetry and Critical Writing
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