Saturday, May 24, 2003

Crow Time      15.March.1980 You live in my heart, but now you're a victim of crow time -- struck dumb by green patches fenc'd in by brown & grey -- & by the mystery of ashen urns. Sky pure black, spark'd by dove stars & the moon is a sliver balancing a firm ball of light on its thin point -- & I'm reminded of your simple black hair, sparkles hidden in its strands. (All my women wear death as a wedding gown, or they wear life as a challenge to the cloak I am known to wear) You live in my eyes, but still you're a hostage to crow time -- lost amid men with broad shoulders & women who live up to men's lies -- & until you notice your own smile, you're doomed to salvation suffering. Some trees with minor leaves frame the cemetary evening, but even now I can't help thinking of you, thinking of your warm woman's heart beating like wind-blown love. (There, I've said it:  my women wear death as bed clothes or they wear life as -- hot flesh pressed against hot flesh memory -- as a reminder of youth I was) You live in my hands, which are still scented with crow time -- thou you may be far or you could be across the evening street -- & here where only silence is an answer I could think of you studying my arms or weeding the wild moss on my chin. Trees, stars moons -- all the lies of romantic bleeding -- must have betray'd me. Now you're gone. (My women wear death or they wear life -- I'm best seen wearing clothes) You live in the hollow where your head press'd against my chest -- only the honor of crow time could tempt us apart. James Collins 11:57:42 AM    comment []

Here is the poem from which the two mysterious lines are quoted in POETIC CORRESPONDENCE: Crow Law   The temple where crow worships walks forward in tall, black grass. Betrayal is crow's way of saying grace to the wolf so it can eat what is left when blood is on the ground, until what remains of moose is crow walking out the sacred temple of ribs in a dance of leaving the red tracks of scarce and private gods. It is the oldest war where moose becomes wolf and crow, where the road ceases to become the old forest where the crow is calling, where we are still afraid.   Linda Hogan, The Book of Medicines 11:42:48 AM    comment []