Splice -

Over the hills it’s dark

A crow calls

(It's dark)

The ground black and wet

So ripe

In this park

You spent years in shrouds

Of your own making

Loving death

Hating life, immured in memory

Expecting a catastrophe

(It's dark)

Erupting from the sunlight

An emesis of shadow

Your bones dripped clear in spring

Green as a fire of algae

Blue as a flood, the birds come out

Of your eyes, the crows come out

Of your eyes

But it’s not the same as it once was