There is an under­stand­ing between me and the crow
That whichever way I go
It will fol­low, caw and show
The move­ment of shad­ows to-and-fro
As I descend
And thus depend
On ebony wings well hid­den from the light
Black feath­ers beat­ing rhyth­mi­cally in flight
On that stride
Down right
Into the night
Towards the deep­est cor­ners of my mind
When I sleep and dream and am con­fined
To dis­torted land­scape, scene and sight

© Thorsten Becker