We never know how many days we have

until the call goes out to us, wordless,

the crow says, cawing on my morning walk,

caw-caw-caw-cawing, breaking up the walk—

But, of course, he doesn’t say that, cawing.

The melody, obstreperous monotony

breaks open spaces in me I despise,

mounting paths through my cold jugular

I have to find new lyrics for, sky-morning-wide—

The crow is gone, perched on some neighboring street—

We never know how many days we have

I repeat to the wind, old friend holding my name

summer into fall, into oblivion.

And, shouting it, the street opens ahead,

star-morning-wide, its only end these stars.