Crows in twos help count the days
Misty morning lost in grey

Dim forms waver under streetlights
Familiar names carried
By a softly singing wind

Is it cliche to say
I'm only happy in the rain?
Or while others hunt for morning doves
I'm content to be here counting crows?

Wandering my foggy dreams
I follow the path of ebony feathers
Strangely shining in the gloom

They lead me to the heart-of-hearts,
Center of the circle,
Land of visions given form

A solitary tree, snow-white
Stands gleaming in the moonlight
With Thought and Memory perched on either side
Singing to each other

Scars cannot exist here, and so I cast them off
Unfurling midnight wings from the failing bony coffin;
The moonlight taught me how

Crows in threes caw joyously
At the coming of the dawn
And the strangely pale sunlight
That for an instant turns them white