cling.
not a crow
but close enough
to feel like one
cling
to the memory
to the meaning
everything I look at
bends into you
its feathers
black holding heat
until the sun touches them
then blue
briefly
like something revealing itself
only when it has to
we lock eyes
too often
to call it nothing
wind moves
through bamboo
not loud
just enough
to remind me it’s there
thin green bones
pressed together
roots holding what can’t be seen
the leaves don’t fight it
they let it pass
I don’t
morning
it finds me
again
it finds me
many pass
one returns
same tree
same distance
like it knows
where to place itself
I try not to attach meaning
but it’s hard
when something keeps arriving
without asking
not a warning
not kind
just… fixed
like it’s waiting
for me to decide
haunting
or hunting
I can’t tell
if it’s searching for me
or if I’m the one
that keeps returning
cling.
what stays
isn’t chasing
it’s what never left
it just changed form
and waited
for me
to notice