The Crow Outside My Window

There’s a crow outside my window,
watching through the violet night.
I hear the rustle of its wings in dreams
and know it’s there, just out of sight.

I know the crow outside my window
the same way that I know breath.
As a constant thing, a given thing,
as inevitable as death.

I ponder the crow outside my window
as it stirs and settles down
for another day of shadowing
me on my hallowed ground.

Perhaps the crow outside my window
is a spirit sent for me,
a guardian or guide or god;
I’ll wonder endlessly.

I sing to the crow outside my window
all the secrets it must keep,
as I slip into the silent depths,
and the crow waits as I sleep.