Walking in the blazing morning sun
thinking about decisions and life changes,
Crow flys past, closely.
I look up as I usually do,
to acknowledge his presence.

I walk, bag in hand, books, library.
Not a few steps--and wings--the graceful thrust echoes
upon the closest part of my hearing, as though
If I moved but one inch, his wings
would have scraped my cheek.

I move my head after he passes.
He flies up to the top of the traffic light.
This is the closest Crow has ever come to me.
I look up, adjust my gaze upon him,
look up with reverence and awe--
Indescribable moisture wells;
the beating of my heart in tune
with something from the great beyond.