Denise Bickford

weaved

 

whose eyes have seen the curling opalescence of the crow                                                                                           

                                                                                                    whose eyes  needled blue  have

been the haven of the crow

                                              whose eyes have been paved and paced with winglessness

whose eyes a hundred trees tall   and deep  whose eyes are full of cut threads neglected

from nests  

               whose eyes beheld a darkness in beaked guidance   whose eyes grew a  voice

the crow could not understand  the crow could not understand  or who selectively neglects

those threads without a shine  bastard  bird   

                                                                         you’ve seen whose eyes the hemlocked fir

disappears in dilation.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: