credit: Tom Noble

credit: Tom Noble


In a faraway land

where prayers are recited

in a language

that is not English


widows and mothers congregate

in the cobblestone square

concealed in black


If you step on a crack



nibbling and pecking at the

shadows of former selves


they keen in the streets by day

and by night vanish

with their ghosts, into doorways


in tiny houses

windows, like open mouths

aim octaves of grief


would-be assassins


on the other side of the world

widows and mothers

crouch in the alcoves

of a silent church


shoulder to shoulder

they circle the globe

and when they take

to the skies like so many



the firmament darkens

and rain drenches

the ashes of ghosts


3 thoughts on “Blackbirds


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