Crow Koan

Jet-black flyer, wintry clime,
Sheen refracting sun-lit feathers,
How to parse a bird so fine,
Dark as pitch what e’er the weather.
Can it be that such a hue
Carries with it thoughts of death,
Has us ponder, ask anew,
What remains for us of breath?
Or do such colors as the crow’s,
Call attention to the light,
Set against New England snows,
The opposite of death and night?
A deep enigma, what’s the answer?
Let me ask the crow, Zen Master.

4 years 2 months ago
Vince, Thanks so much for this poem; it's love you.
More:

Don't miss the best from America

Sign up for our Newsletter to get the Jesuit perspective on news, faith and culture.

The latest from america

The pope called on journalists to stop feeding the "vicious cycle of anxiety" and "spiral of fear."
When the questions became more detailed on abortion policies, the numbers shifted.
Muslims in an overwhelmingly Buddhist nation, the Rohingya have long faced persecution in Myanmar, where most are denied citizenship.
Russia, Iran and Turkey set up a three-way mechanism to ensure compliance of all sides.