I waited longer than I wanted to
for our sign to show up in the woods,
a sign we had agreed on, you and me,
on your death-bed of green linen tree leaves.
Exactly then, when I would think of you,
an owl was to appear and say the word.
Magic might be possible for lovers.
I waited. Then I thought of you so strong.
But there was silence when I said your name,
before I heard the caw above my head.
So like you to send me a crow instead,
a mile too far and minutes overdue.