The Crow and Epiphany

I was waiting for Epiphany
when a crow painted me
silver and black
like a wet Cadillac

The paint a moist paste
white and yellow and blue
with what hue did she
pass her message to me

The next time I saw Epiphany
she preferred not to know me
but I knew the crow in her
parting designed my destiny.

Through the Alley at Twilight

Twilight, the time of evening just before dusk,
brouhaha of shadows passing to their roost,
a calico on her last prowl before turning in,
ethereal blue rectangles lighting living rooms.

Porch lights welcoming neighbors and intruders,
strings of lights celebrating an open cafe or pub,
or a place to sit out on the stoop and talk,
couple browsing by in postprandial comma,

recalling injuries of the day, hair down,
disappointments, missed chances, kiss offs,
walking up or down the darkening alley,
unpaved gravel, ruts, the walk difficult,

but nowhere near impossible, preferred
way, the two birds scuffle, feathers ruffle,
they separate, then come back together
and drop lower into the trees, looking

for a mate that won’t hate to sleep alone,
will get up and fetch the bone without
undo complaint, make some coffee,
filter dreams, shovel another load of mulch.

Crow, Rock, & Grapes