Silver slivers float with the crows.
Black beak opens and delivers
shivers as it glistens in my fingers.
Bird show me how to build my nest.
Frail feathers caked in ash,
weathered past to day-faked newness,
naked blue means clueless lasts.
Still teach me how to build your nest.
And I wait, and it rains, silver whisps cross my eyes.
Silver whisps cross my eyes.
Lacquered lashes frame blank looks,
black wingtips flash in lasting play,
shook quaked and glimmered as I should,
crow show me how to weave my nest.
Smooth and gray as spider’s silk,
wafting in a windy spring,
wings unfold to silversmith,
silver string I line our nest.