The Black Iris

The cross about his neck
has nothing to do with him
he's been licentious too
long for too many years.

But his vanity went before him
when She came in from
29 Palms...
those Crow feathers are real
and soft as silence.

No one ever walked before
her in any room, anywhere,
upon any nightscape and
their eyes burned
when she passed by.

Black sheen, midnight bird,
another evening flown.....

She scratched with black talons,
restless with diamonds, the deep
shadows cut across cold concrete
in the moan of the night wind.

You may remember the story...
long ago...when they found
her in the alley....

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