I will wear black…

The soot black

of ravens,

of crows…

The buff black

of bears’ rigor…

The inky black

of the New Moon’s

star-pricked night

as I mourn.

And,

within the depth

of my dark garment,

I will collect intent

until my shadow –

feathered in light –

blooms

in colors all

its own.

— C.Birde, 7/22