Morning drifts through the 
branches like golden sand
weaves through nimble 

This fleeting warmth that 
seems to coarse through in
careful vibrations only when
I’m awake.

A momentary shadow dims
my peripheral, the clever caw
of an acquaintance in balance
and tranquility. 

The crow perches on the 
highest branch, charcoal eyes
and ashen feathers poised 
in contrast. 

We stare for an eternities worth,
in stark silence of the world’s
most hidden brilliance, and I 

Not on the meaning, not on any
perceived omen, but on what
could be ruling his existential
plain as well. 

I wonder if he’s any idea how
necessary his presence is to the
light, or if he sunbathes in the
fool’s spectrum. 

The sun does not fear him no
more than he understands it,
but they exist harmoniously,

He tilts his head, as I do mine,
I realize he likely comprehends
this far better than any of us
could ever hope. 

And when I blink, he has gone.

– B. 

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