Crows

I know you see them.
You too are surrounded.
They leave at noon
but when the dusk comes
they all rush to join it,
and when our hands part,
fill the space in between,
take up their perch,
rake their talons across it

and you will howl,
cry that space was not left
for clawing black wings,
but then you'll remember
that scene from the Passion
where the crow stabs
the sentenced thief's eye,
recoil and gasp
in stark understanding--

It's too late,
our love has been stolen,
but which of us
is the crucified?