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I have married a crow

Jilly Dybka

The bird died in my hands, then was OK.
The bird smelled like outside. I was inside.
The bird flew off. I was a tree. I prayed
to the Crow Soul. Feathers. Beak. The bird died,

then flew off. Into the smoke. To turquoise
sky.  Wing-easy flier. Beak-breaking sky.
I was a tree. Crow-joker in disguise.
Navigator-prankster. Raucous kooky

Crow Soul. He flew away. I was a tree.
Crow Soul smelled like sky. Go tell his brothers.
Crow Soul died in my hands. Then he was free.
Thank you morning sun and thank you feathers.

Jilly Dybka

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