Black Mass

My old soul son
older than me
(an old soul too)
Our black crow wings
enfold us both

Nightbirds, we stroll
the darkling streets
with sad black burdens
When you know too much
all passion vanishes

Unseen in my blackness
no refuge on the avenue
I weep, solitary crow,
a sad liberation

Don’t expect to be missed!
admonishes my son
Said with a smile,
he slaps my old shoulder
It’s okay to be invisible!
It’s okay!
to vanish, unremarked

Oh, is it?

The crows gather
black masses
a murder of wings
heaped in trees,
offering communion

The sun sets and we roost,
my brethren and me,
cawing, sore throated
raucous, soulful
irreverent, knowing

to the black hole
in our midst