Corvus caurinus

I discovered only recently
a crow living inside me.
Until then I had thought

the gnawing in my guts
was just black coffee
rolling into an empty stomach.

It all comes together over coffee.
The steam off the cup
echoes that which rises

from the rain-blackened street
where a crow
scavenges the pavement.

Now I understand it:
the heat upon the cold
interior surface, the breath

of a crow in January.
How it all began seems clear
in retrospect:

the egg of a dream savored
in doubt and swallowed.
Somewhere just below my ribs it hatched.

Its hunger became my own
and grew with the force of every light
I ever turned away from.

John Schouten

If you've any comments on his poems, John Schouten would be pleased to hear from you.