That Crow

Hold that image—
fast, before it fades
to fog, to
dreams not remembered.

For many days
if a crow caws, its
dreams nudge her, the roll of a
die that makes
life feel fragile, maybe it
is fragile, like that image,

a crow
broken-winged, strutting across an old stone wall, a
bird that swallowed her whole
that crow from her dreams, that crow that

~bw 22

Day Six prompted us to write a variation of an acrostic poem.  The first word of each line in this piece is from the first stanza of Dreams by Langston Hughes. This one didn’t come easy, but it is my sixth.

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