10-3 concept from The Sacred and the Profane

Axis Mundi

 

Two crows stalk a mashed squirrel

on a double-yellow line. Their coal eyes search

for cars, cats and eye me as I jog by the road’s shoulder.

They hop, wings bared, squawking

and circling, fencing glossy beaks.

 

On gravel I dodge broken glass, rusting nails.

Around the bend, looking back,

crows lumber across a meadow to pine trees

and vanish in shade. They caw in uproar.

 

As I near them on the trail, they hush,

 

Motionless.

 

They glare at me from branches,

wings a parasol of sheen in sun shaft.

One eyes me on a stump,

swivels its head as I pass.

 

        .           .

 

The Nazarene eyed the temple and spoke

of stones crumbling to dust,

of stars dropping like hail

on lanes, meadows, trees,

 

the sun black as a crow’s eye.

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