Birds At The Burial, by Natalie Crick
Near the riverbank where we
Buried her, I light a candle
And wait, patient as a hunter
Detecting what the beast will do
In the next moment.
Someone, somewhere, will see it.
Barn owls celebrate
Over their cathedral of bones,
Screaming skies clawed with crows.
The man asleep on his lumpy mattress
Has a head full of ghosts and
Sad, erotic dreams.
Gulls rise, small white banshees
Worshipping the sun.
