Those eyes, in the picture,
staged just left of center,
such innocence, unadorned, denied;
all in your eyes, linking you to me,
what a fantasy, to see a Crow.
But, I have, so proud and bold,
it was stealing pecans,
stealing the show
of my fabled emotions,
cleaned like a beak
of what is now me. I wrote of such,
a year ago. Counting Crows,
I do it well, as I dance in the night,
Adam, so pained, reverbs dark delight.
Poeming Crow, oh, yes,
I have done it well, in a series of ache,
penned within the musical hell
of my personally loved pain,
I’ve called them “Dancing to Adam”.
See, no shame, to dance to Crows.

Erin Moen
12/13/03
Copyright 2003 ©

There are also two unposted pieces in the series.