How the Widow Crows

leisurely feathers gather round the binds of living
as the wiling winds of the west
begin to warm the heart to light.

rest in the sigh of the open air,
these prairie grounds we live to fall on
and let each blade of grass begin
to warm us fast onto the ground

we gave up high.
Look into the blank skies
searching for clouds made out of string

but that's the thing.


no one will tell us how
to brighten high into the love of life
and that, my friends
is how
the widow crows.