The Witching Hour

six of crows | day 13 | freewrite

a ripple of black
perches on the church steeple
a lonesome crow,
inky feathers fall to the streets below

he's joined by another,
who holds a metal ring in her beak
and adds it to her stolen shrine
a pile of trinkets that shine

a third joins the group,
followed by a fourth and fifth
under the bell they gather round
midnight toll has yet to sound

the sixth crow arrives at last,
cawing bloody triumph
for together they are six crows
and where they are, death follows.