He is a black crow stalking the raven
congregation in their oiled raincoats.
The women are pigeons in their plain scarves,
but here is one who seems a robin redbreast,
brighteyed and laughing in her flowered blouse.
He passes her, his face a gargoyle
of the others’ sharp-beaked scowls.
In church he raises his eyes to lead the prayer
and notices the roof bosses, budding, dark and intricate.
Much later he wakes shaking from a dream
where he is in the graveyard
gorging himself on wet red berries.
Published in Gutter Magazine 07.