Dear Crow, Mister Crow, Lovely Crow.
We ravaged your lands, tainted your meaning,
carved our hatred into you, and now you are
no more ominous than the sugar we call whole.
Your meaning was once so bright, a bringer
of luck, purification, preventer of damnation.
What more can we do to you is nevermore, nevermore.
You stand upon white snow. Ink blood running deep into
our eyes—your eyes. They remember. Generations of
youth will caw our names. They will remember
the color of deep rain— choke-hold and ashamed.
Telephone wires have become your new trees. Dance
standing still. Black eyes hidden within black dreams.
No queen can ever pierce the soul as much as those
black ties. Stand still as you dance with clear eyes.
How tired are you? Corner of my eyes sees you unwind.
Take upon the richness, we have slain you. Our ties,
our ties. How tired are you? Watch them stare into deep
waters, brisk and cold. They meet at twilight and in-between,
hold hands and feathers and little dreams.
Dear Crow, Mister Crow, Lovely Crow—Stand aside.