The Crow King

He stood on the bridge 

alternating his gaze 

from water to skyline

skyline to water

and then up at the clouds

his head in yes-motion.

Wherever his vision lit

he found no place 

for his head to rest

or body to nest

but if he lingered

he’d face arrest.

So the time was here

to fly, to die, to cry out 

against the cold city

with its impersonal

charity cheaply bought

and grudgingly wrought. 

He was the Crow King

freefall in full swing

wondering what death brings

if not some kind of relief

to a life too brief

living lost and alone.

***