Home > Mutating the Signature > Black: A Sonnet

Black: A Sonnet

March 23, 2009

A well-fed crow, his caw the clap of gods,
hews darkness from the hand of wilding night,
his feathers glossed in amethyst, at odds
with morning’s eye, for nothing’s left of light.

In solitude he counts the spoils, his mien
both proud and distant; then with taunting grace
he renders bones to relics sharp and keen,
vain offerings as sentinel of place.

He gives himself to sleep, his corvine nest
unhinged by lunar apparitions, black
and thick like dreams he thought he’d put to rest,
tomorrow’s omens in shadow and wrack.

The midnight gods can offer no reprieve
to one who feeds on embers of the eve.

Scott Wiggerman and Andrea L. Watson

Download the MP3

For process notes, see “White: A Ghazal.”

  1. March 23, 2009 at 3:52 pm

    Beautiful poem. Thanks. loved the lines:

    “He gives himself to sleep, his corvine nest
    unhinged by lunar apparitions, black
    and thick like dreams he thought he’d put to rest,”
    daniela

  2. March 23, 2009 at 3:55 pm

    PS forgot to reveal my weakness for crows and things corvid. They have stolen me. :-) and keep me tucked somewhere in their nest.

  3. March 31, 2009 at 12:10 am

    Very fine!

  1. No trackbacks yet.
Comments are closed.