A Darker Heaven
When you bend close
on your black-feathered wings
the wind carries
secret sobs, hidden sighs,
all the aching songs made up
by lonely dreamers
in the witching hour. This tune,
played on your flute-hollow bones,
hums with tales, and you lift
night’s soothing darkness, a quilt
to cast over grief and fear.
Whatever bright monsters
lurk in the sun, whatever daylight
horrors linger after dusk,
you banish with a sweep
of your wings. Every shadow needs
an angel, and every midnight
a prayer for deeper darkness.
Shy and nocturnal, Jennifer Crow has rarely been photographed in the wild, but it’s rumored that she lives near a waterfall in western New York. You can find her poetry on several websites, including Goblin Fruit, Uncanny, Mythic Delirium, Eye to the Telescope, and Mithila Review. Most recently, her work has appeared in Dreams and Nightmares, Topology, and Not One of Us. She’s always happy to connect with readers on her Facebook author page or on twitter @writerjencrow.
Editor’s Notes: A collage of images features an abstract phoenix bird—chosen for its redemptive legend.