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So Like That; The Darkness of Night by Erich von Hungen



So Like That


Down from the sky,

wings chop and cut and drop

to where the dead things lie

among the scattered plumes.


Crows there, those jagged bits of night,

take out the eyes, they take them first.

The vultures rip and tear the biggest pieces.

The flies, in their electric buzz, find a thousand places

and there, their white maggots come alive, they thrive.


The sun, even that,

laps up some part of the juice, the sap.

And then the earth and sand,

the last leavings, the bones even,

all eventually are dry --eventually, abandoned.


So like that, in its way,

time slips down from the sky,

slips in close to me

and eats and eats and eats.


And like the crows,

time starts with  my eyes

so I will never know

exactly when I've died.



The Darkness of Night  

           

The crow

broke off from the night

and stayed.


It spied for it throughout the day,

and with its great wings

brought it back down again,

landing it -- the night.


Who knew

that night was alive,

that it had claws to tear and rip and grab,

a beak, too, like a knife?


Who knew

that darkness could strike

with a force?

Who knew

it could get away?


Who knew

it was inevitable

and could fight for its place?


Who knew

that night had feathers to it

and a golden, watchful eye?


Who knows

its mission when we sleep,

its intentions, its schemes

or why it nests upon our dreams?

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