Pretty things fly
away.
Nothing stays for
long.
Before the wings
get tattered and shorn,
the sky calls, and all the
pretty things fly away.

out of the night that covers me
black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul

in the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is ******, unbowed

beyond this place of wrath and tears
looms the horror of the shade
yet the menace of the years
finds, will find me unafraid

it matters not how strait the gate
how charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul

I don’t, don't speak human
when blue comes down to talk
in the clogged old crannies of the night
woman
with ornate skin
moves her arm
her wrist, her fingers
quick like the clicking of a tongue
quick glitter, gentle then gentler
and rippling, a water eye in blue

over hills and over muddles
see the crow fly

when time comes fluttering back to us
tell me again of the war
when mingles the sword with
flowering heart and the reeds
speak up, their
thin throats filled
with lore, and lure the scattered world here
here here
          here

tell me

tell me, on and on the
tingling of mud as it is
lifted, lifted, to man, to callous,
like sun-forged flesh and force,
to his child, and the parting
of two lips
parting! the lifting, the toiling of tendon in the
riot of soul

over the woods! over mountains
see the crow fly, feel her shadow
when throe laughs, tickles the muscle
and even past wakes up
and even the gaunt clutched spine
of a thin sallow voice
perks up keening

hear hear hear

the beating of the feat
the beating of the nerve
when chant them men, and sole
and leather, with rumble
the rumble of war
when slides sly down the sweat and dust
and galleries light up
with walls full of human
and museums cradle little stones
little bones and calls
tell me
tell me tell me
even a crow can sing sing
sing one awake