Improv 1, Week 5

I am Still Thinking about this Crow

I am still thinking

about this crow

that with its pair of black scissors –

by two brisk swishing sounds –

cut an aslant arc

on the matte paper of the sky

over the toasted wheat farms

of the Yush valley;

I am still thinking

about this crow

that facing the nearby mountains

said something-

with its lungs dry cawing-

that the mountains echoed it, baffled,

for such a long time

in their rocky heads.

Sometimes I ask myself that at high noon,

flying over the toasted farms of wheat,

to cross over a grove of poplars,

what that crow –

a crow with such stubbornly sable color,

with such rigid, definite presence –

could have said with such fury and bawl

to those old mountains –

those slumbering pious hermits –

that they, in the midday of summer,

would repeat it over and over

for such a long time?

 I am still thinking about this Dream

I am still thinking

about this dream

In the hospital room

faded yellow wallpaper 

and red roses.

Light coming from behind me

I see him

taken by God's twisted

sense of purpose. No!

This cant be right...

Losing my mind faster

than I can regain

my motor skills.

I see his face

all the years flash

by much too fast

This can't be happening.

A black sound grows louder in my head

and starts to swallow the room

from the outside edges inward.

I am still thinking about this dream 

but I can feel my feet.

Startled awake by fear

eyes clamped shut.

Thank God, it wasn't real.

I can wake up.

Take a deep breath

Open your eyes...

Faded yellow wallpaper

and red roses.