Crow

Lyrics:

Primordial water works on ragged rock,
tangled in seaweed, crusted with shells,
etched away with the receding brine,
patiently grinding, grand master of time.

Yonder, the crow, in obsidian black,
watching the ocean turn
to the diurnal ostinato of the moon.

A cawing, friendless frenzy
in a cold salt wind,
growing older, tide by tide.

Long stride, a flap of those tattered wings.
But who will hear his echo ring
when sun rips through cracks in the clouds?

The sky has heard this proud bird
trilling the frequencies of the contact zone
where light meets wind and water meets stone.