Praying with Crow

(1)
I am often left
empty of words,
language is of little use.
Why does Crow
speak better
of such matters?
Prayer comes easy to him
(perhaps it’s the black feathers?),
I wear a gray woolen coat,
yet, I remain silent,
saying nothing.

(2)
I’ve been asking
un-answerable questions,
where did it all go,
all that was once beautiful
gone leaving no trace?

(3)
Crow flies off,
I follow with my eyes,
Coming to rest
on a high bare branch.
Crow looks to the west,
I turn my head
& see the gray clouds
building as snow
begins to fall.

(4)
Crow is behind
a white vail,
not even his silhouette remains.
Turning, I walk home
following tracks
left by Fox
& finding at my door
yellow Spring flowers,
in full glorious bloom
cradled by newly
fallen snow.