What do you throw in the fire that is built outside your door?

The cremation of what was never meant to be

But the shrieking of unwanted bones will echo

Across that ancient inflammation, a jangling heartbeat

Reverberates the call to wipe away its only lingering woe

As if the ceaseless injunction to incinerate could resolve

What mattered most; the time it took to bare the waking incarnation of a hopeful soul

Stretched three wingspans with a few bent feathers

And leather look ; taking heed into the unfamiliar crossing of an unknown road

Sure to skip shadows in the asphalt from power lines

Tied up and fused with the mystery of their insides

A singular bird settles in the crosshairs

Accepting of its shadow and beautiful intention

Is the call of a crow a beautiful or a sad song?