The Shape of Dark - A Murder of Crows

murders rise on nights like these crows - in bushels cross and stitch the horizon dead painting dusk blind the shape of dark on nights like these… memories can snag on sob and storm from deepest fathom torn oaths, in cold belly set the heavy shore to lag on the horizon where on ice and rock they lynch the wing and in shadows wrought bury the light in darkness, vague as death painting dusk blind the shape of dark on nights like these… mountains shiver into cold sleep to possess the deep where ivies bloom and creep on lattice drift, above the hum where once clicking the cicadas sung breaking slumber under blue moon spell frolicking frond, breathless fell so reckless, ambles the wayward heart painting dusk blind…I find the shape of dark on nights like these… on whom no sun deep fire shall look to shed precipitously but softly sings the somber sea her wayward notes afloat greet the ear (a memory?) a haunting stroke the rustling of voices (laughter?) locked in throat painting dusk blind on nights like these… I am at peace a murder of crows in backyard flicker while in beautiful darkness swoons the distant moon beating the light my heart held warm that no murder on this night shall swarm save for sounds soft and low sent through the wind from a distant crow -