I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat. The convenience of the high trees! The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray Are of advantage to me; And the earth’s face upward for my inspection. My feet are locked upon the rough bark. It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: Now I hold...
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Crow realized God loved him— Otherwise, he would have dropped dead. So that was proved. Crow reclined, marveling, on his heart-beat. And he realized that God spoke Crow— Just exiting was His revelation. But what Loved the stones and spoke stone? They seemed to exist too. And what spoke that strange silence After his clamor of caws faded? And what loved the shot-pellets That dribbled from those strung-up mummifying crows? What spoke...
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