One for Sorrow

A flash of black feathers against a stark grey sky

naive messenger

a solo omen of desolation clothed in obsidian elegance

call you raven or crow or magpie

I still know the purport you bring

drop no shiny bobbles on my doorstep

no trinkets of misdirection

I've learned the harsh lesson

of not picking up lost or discarded things

disguised as a gift

and calling them home

I hear your cackling

a constant reminder of my folly

having tried to turn a lover into

a friend

I might as well have tried twisting

lead into gold

silence into closure

~

Ha, you say,

Ha.