the crow stares at me
perched on the hood
head cocked curiously
it is motionless
as if waiting for me
to break the silence

i don’t know what
it wants to hear so i
don’t say anything at all
rather than risk
breaking the strange spell

perhaps the light is
reflecting oddly off of
the dirty windshield
or this is some omen
signalling my rapidly
approaching demise

haltingly i begin to
tell it one of the hundreds
of unwritten poems about
the lady with wildflowers
in her perfect smile
i ramble on in metaphors
failing to capture even
a glimpse of her beauty
how her words slice through
like blade of perfection
the sense of peace that
stems from her existence

when i finally finish
the crow nods once
satisfied apparently
then flies off with a cry
carrying the knowledge of
a fool in love into the
cerulean blanket above

was it actually there
standing on the hood
staring in at me
or did i doze off only
to dream of her

i feel uncertain
but the soft glow radiates
in my chest and i
find i do not really care
lost in the eyes of a crow
lost in the thoughts of her
a blending of wonder
on a chill autumn morning