Crow

1.
I watched
through six inches
of window, as the last
autumn leaf stretched, spun, and drifted
downwards.

2.
The door
swung wide open,
wet drunk on its hinges,
and you swept in – bringing winter
with you.

3.
You have
always been my
plague; a black nest of storm,
dragging a throng of reluctant
thunder.

4.
I swore
in the half-light
that I felt a tremor,
(though your touch was as light as a
feather).

5.
The wind
howled tooth and bone
around your peaked shoulders –
through biting hail, I watched the door
slam shut.

6.
My hands
were numb, and I
dropped my glass. Somehow, I
knew, your breathless season turned it
to ice.

7.
You loped
like a white hound
to the bar; when you poured
one on the rocks, I couldn’t stop
my laugh.

8.
I’d swear
(on the moonlight)
that I felt a tremor;
but your touch was as light as the
weather.