Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings...

When night comes black
Such royal dreams beckon this woman d
As lift her apart
From hers earth-married side
To wing sleep-feathered,
The singular air,
While she, envious bridge,
Cannot follow after, but lies
with her blank brown eyes starved wide,
Twisting curses in the tangled sheet
With taloned fingers,
Shaking in her skull's cage
The stuffed shape of her flown mate
Escaped among moon-plumaged strangers;
So hungered, she must wait in range
Until bird-racketing dawn
When her shrike-face
Leans to peck open those locked lids, to eat
Crowns, palace, all
That night long stole her male,
and with red beak
Spike and suck out
Last blood-drop of that truant heart.

Of :
my crow

Pluto,
the true
Plato,
azzurro-
negro

green-blue
rainbow -

My friend,
it is true

we know
that the crow

'has wings,'
how-
ever pigeon-toe-
in-turned on grass. 
We do.

You speak too---
my vow and motto

And so
dear crow -

I have to
let you go...

I have to
let you go, go, go ...