By: Linda M Crate

the crows follow me
remind me to
give wings to my dreams
make them a reality,
and it must suck to be you
standing in monuments
of moments that you mean to forget;
always buried in the snows
of regret and burned by the ferocity
that comes with winter’s wind—
i remember once we kissed with a passion
that terrified autumn’s leaves
into falling,
but you forgot me when there were no flowers
to string upon the summer of my body
whose heart was born of
flame;
but you only ever were born in coldness and so took
its frame without thinking that perhaps
you could be something more than a blue lipped
knight dancing dead—
i tried to reanimate life into your dead bones,
but you liked to be comfortable
more than you wanted to change and so you shed me
like snakeskin and let me blow away in the
wind;
and so i let the sun, moon, flowers, waters, and stars
sew my wings back together and flew in the
direction of a new moon
watching as the miracles of dreams came to birth.