The Crow in the Fog
The crow arrived before the sunrise,
black wings dissolving inside the fog,
as if the morning itself
had forgotten how to exist.
The world was silent except for grief.
Even the trees stood still,
holding dead leaves
like old letters never answered.
I walked through the cold field alone,
carrying entire winters inside my chest.
There are sadnesses so deep
they no longer cry —
they simply become part of the weather.
The crow watched me carefully.
Not with fear.
Not with mercy.
But with the recognition
of another wounded creature surviving the dark.
And for one brief moment,
inside that endless gray mist,
I felt less abandoned
by the universe.
— Juliana Hoffmann Liska
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