Rain Crow

poem by Dave Morrison

Rain Crow

Rain runs down
black crow’s back,
drips from his beak.

He waits.
He is high in the
branches of a

lightning-blasted tree, a
tree shaped like an
upside-down pear with

a bite taken out.
He waits.
Below and to the

east the river chews
at its banks, rainwater
the color of tea runs

in rivulets, joins the
reunion, rides down to
the sea.

He waits.
When crow cries it
sounds like bitter

laughter, but crow is
simply making an

I am here.
I am waiting.

The rain on crow is as
black as new ink, but falls
to the branches colorless.

The rain on the leaves is as
green as a grasshopper, but
falls to the ground colorless.

Crow waits while
the rain changes

Sliver JukeBooks 2008