Wednesday, April 23, 2014


Crows -- black as yesterday's chocolate cake -- uneaten.  Although I have eaten metaphoric crow before. But this is really about two art pieces converging, conversing, and emerging.   From two paintings, a poem happened. From black ink, a tree filled with crows.  As only a poem can, those same crows migrated  to a solitary tree -- a few leaves, birdless.  That's the migratory path of poetry.

1 comment:

  1. while the cats stalked the wildness of the woods around the house
    we tried to eat what was cooked for us
    and yet the thoughts kept crowding in

    the sound of no talking at dinner