Apricot Press

After the first discovery of the abandoned corpse
he spits feathers in dumb surprise
and chides me with his gaze
as I stumble on the scene
of the crime

He bows to examine and continue his post-mortem
in all weathers, his weary eyes
knowing there will be blood
spilled and bodies left
to investigate

His bleak siren announces the signs of fresh death
with his gliding arrival on silent wings
a preliminary enquiry
before the autopsy that
is his living

Crows despise this doyen of the clean up operation
and his stoic scrutiny of each murder stings
his enemies into mounting
an intended diversion
from the scent

But later in the grey dusk this sombre angel returns
not to close the case with a brilliant deduction
but to search for the heart
of the victim and
understand it

He tastes the history of its life with gratitude
and with quiet grace completes its reduction
to a neat pile of fluff and
bones granted dignity
in its devouring

Photo credit: Emil Zmiycharov