The crow’s wings are magician hands

that flap and disappear

through the swirl of animal

souls and the gray marine layer

of morning.

The lake is gray too,

ribbed by a breeze

or by paddle boats,

the same each day

though changing.

The solace of anglers

on the edge of the dock:

one with a catch

that plip plops from the water

onto the deck,

goes silent, then still.

And I realize that I

have gone gray

on the insides too,

a color that illuminates

others.

Title taken from the Cocteau Twins song, 1990.

Categories: poetry, writing

Tags: #mywritingprocess, 50 50 clown, aging, Cocteau Twins, Heaven or Las Vegas, identity, nature imagery, pacific northwest, poem, poetry, William Pearse writer