the skies are empty,

and the wood is silent.

there are bird bones in the snow,

and ebony feathers.

blood, bright against the white.

the trees echo with memory only,

of a long lost raucous cacophony.

the tears freeze on my face

in this place of loss.

i tie the feathers into my hair,

and closing my eyes;

shake the bones,

finding the wings within to fly

to the land of crow spirits.