The Crow

Adam the crow woke before dawn, black as secrets and bright as thought. He walked wire like a tightrope philosopher, measuring wind and rumour. In his beak he carried yesterday’s bread, in his eye tomorrow’s storm. The city spoke in crumbs and engines, but Adam listened to the small click of meaning. He knew every rooftop name, every gutter song. When the sun climbed, he wrote circles on the air, signing nothing and everything with a feathered hush that held the day together. At dusk, he forgave the shadows, shared his bread with silence, and kept watch for nights

End