1.
Crows crumble in ink,
a fever takes your name.
This story is about blood.
The estuary is dented with it.
A rickety dock hisses loss,
the curse of an acid blunder.
Hawk charms the predatory wind.
Wonder culls the lonesome days.
A yellow wind burns the canyon.
This burgundy doubt. This tangled mesh.
2.
I wake up meshed
In sticky doubt,
tear free
scramble up canyon walls
until wind washes my face.
Winter days, one after another.
No wonder the wind is a predator.
I will become Hawk
Gliding above blunder
and curse, above loss,
until I swoop and dock
and blood the estuary
blood the story
erase your name,
my fever,
in ink and dead crows.