Jessica Van de Kemp

Jackdaw sitting on the flashing: he greets
the morning, kak-kak. I keep my eyes closed to
the lightning glare. I know that he is a reckoning drawn in
broad, flat strokes by Ōkyo’s hand, sly crow on a branch.

There is a storm coming
and he knows it.

Dark clouds to the East, his metallic warning
is lost in the thunder. Cold rain beads down, chak-chak,
chak-chak, and he cracks open grasshopper eggs on the ledge.
The sound is lost to all ears but mine.

He is the black Midas
of Delphi.

I will catch him
with a dish of oil,
and he will see his face.

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