What is the sound I hear at the crossroads?

Out of the trees, the challenge of the owl.

She surely sees me in the gloaming.

I am the lover of the crow,

And friend of all things wild,

And have wandered very far this evening.

What is that sound I hear in the evening?

Something followed me to the crossroads.

I'd hoped to lose them in the wild.

If only I had the stealth of an owl,

The dark wings of a crow,

I'd hide forever in the gloaming.

Blue and quiet, gentle gloaming.

Frogs begin the song of evening.

You almost miss her, a lonely crow

Perched on the faded sign at the crossroads.

Off in the forest, the call of an owl

Comes from the nightly forbidden wild.

My scattered thoughts tonight are wild,

And follow distant lights in the gloaming.

My heart flies, not like an eagle, but an owl,

Hunting for fieldmice in the evening.

Which is the longer path to death, O Crossroads?

Or should I ask the starving crow?

The stark sharp caw of the crow

Brings in the city something wild.

What has brought us to such crossroads?

Let's run into the gloaming

Without lights for just one evening,

And listen all night for the hoot of an owl.

My companion at midnight is the owl,

And at noon she is the crow.

I'm alone in the morn and evening.

I had not meant to grow so wild;

I must have gotten lost in the gloaming,

Took a wrong turn at the crossroads.


This sestina echoes the owl in the wild,

And the crow in the gloaming.

Are they my evening oracle at the crossroads?