The Crows
The eyes
radiant
as eyes of a crow.
Such images
heal themselves
in our blood.
Night descends
with the voice
of silence,
And we
are left here
seeking names.
But this night
heals no thing
in its grasp.
Darkness
is a promise
without end.
The eyes
of crows
watch us dance.
Like puppets
we dangle
at the end of strings.
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