There's a crow outside mywindow,
watching through the violet night.
I hear the rustle of its wings in dreams
and know it's there, just out of sight.
I know the crow outside my window
the same way that I know breath,
as a constant thing, a given thing,
as inevitable as death.
I ponder the crow outside my window
as it stirs and settles down
for another day of shadowing
me on my hallowed ground.
Perhaps the crow outside my window
is a spirit sent for me,
a guardian or guide or god;
I'll wonder endlessly.
I sing to the crow outside my window,
all the secrets it must keep
as I slip into the silent depths
and the crow waits as I sleep.