The Crow Part 2 - Redeemed

It is still there.
 
Torrential rain
And wind-ripped sky
Spring’s bluster can’t touch it
That dead crow, up high.
 
*
Last week, there was a second crow. A live one - either mourning or just plain stupid and confused.
It sat on the next branch, cawing… directly at the corpse.
(I swear I’m not making this up.)
I couldn’t tell if it was saying
“get up and fly” or “don't you remember me?” because I don’t speak crow.
But I feel certain the response was
“we’re all going the same way somehow... together.”
*
 
Despite ragged feathers of nothingness-black  
- a claw visible now, and a painful bent throat -
Exploring and writing has stolen its menace,
Familiarity disarming its grip on my hope.
 
The black spot, still there, is surrounded by sun -
When I grasp that, it isn’t a burden to me.
I don’t have to carry its rot in my soul,
For there it is, hanging up in that tree.