A write-back poem to Robert Frost’s Dust of Snow.

The Crow

to Ricky, for all the wisdom

  

That big tree I fling

to fly with these dark-night wings

I shiver for some snow

and shower it down below.

  

An ice died frozen

never melts nor awakens

I bear this numbness

Hollow! No egg on my nest!

With my red round eyes

I see all the worlds are lies –

muds covered with ice,

so white, grant you with surprise!

Yet a stone so hard

to smash my heart apart

strike of a cottonball

I felt; so soft and small.

  

To be stoned to death

is way better to lose breath –

to gasp for that air

like fire less its flare.