Two crows perch on the bone-white limb
of a blood-red leaved birch tree;
their eyes are dilated in Thought,
fathomless with Memory —
their feathers hold the old-world wind
folded up within their wings,
like pages of forbidden wisdom
disdained by “holy” kings —
dark specters of our secrets writhe
like black serpents in their beaks;
in their knowledge our fates reside,
yet neither for a mortal speaks.

[Written by Jared Bertholf.]