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Two poems arrived recently. Blackbirds wing their way regularly through my writing and imagination, harbingers of spiritual wisdom. I notice them everywhere I go. These will speak for themselves.


silent black bird

swooping and swaggering
in my line of vision day upon day

calling me
beyond the ‘caw’

past the cry of my heart
into deeper silence still

you drink at the waterfall
pick through the grass
never saying a word




a crow just landed on the median wall
my husband announces as we drive down I-40

leaving our childhood homes behind us
and I wonder (he says sardonically) why?

I think to myself:
because . . . that is my life 

what?! I ask the crow impatiently
what!? I demand of my heart

the crow always says the same thing