We never know how many days we have
until the call goes out to us, wordless,
the crow says, cawing on my morning walk,

caw-caw-caw-cawing, breaking up the walk—
But, of course, he doesn’t say that, cawing.
The melody, obstreperous monotony

breaks open spaces in me I despise,
mounting paths through my cold jugular
I have to find new lyrics for, sky-morning-wide—

The crow is gone, perched on some neighboring street—
We never know how many days we have
I repeat to the wind, old friend holding my name

summer into fall, into oblivion.
And, shouting it, the street opens ahead,
star-morning-wide, its only end these stars.