RSS Feed


In another world, we were crows,
black and aloft. This memory is
why we watch them, wary with assigned
meanings, full of lore, legends abounding

Once, a crow got in our house—who knows how?
That’s how we learned of doorways between
Worlds where we are human and worlds where
we are crows. In some houses (in your house)
The worlds flow into one another In dreams, too.
Those are doors. Some books— Charles de Lint
traveled with his crow girls into some far places.
Another sign, another doorway-
The way your heart tightens when the flock lifts
all at once, from the snowy field.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

A Hundred Falling Veils

there's a poem in every day

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

%d bloggers like this: