Locus of the Sacred Realm

a three part companion piece

Preamble

A man should be mourned at his birth, not at his death

Montesquieu (1689–1755), “Lettres Persanes”

Locus of the Sacred Realm

I. Old Crow

I see you, old crow in the tree,
calling into my open window
each day, as the sun climbs
above the horizon—
and I rise, slow from slumber.

Some day, they will find me
burning in the hot sun,
lying in a pool of sweat,
surrounded by a heap
of unsplit rounds of firewood,
amongst rows upon rows
of neatly stacked cordwood,
grasping a splitting axe
in these callused hands,
weary now, of walking this land.

Call me now, old crow—
call me,
lay me down
upon this land.

II. Old Man

I have watched you, old man—
season after season,
from the trees above,
as you swung your axe.
You work too hard
at what you love.
My wings too have wearied,
my feathers thinned from flight.
I no longer need a nest
to hold my love—
my children are gone,
I am weary of the sky.
Someday, they’ll find me too,
lying on the ground,
as they will find you,
beneath the weight of the years
and the labour of your hands.
Call me now, old man—
call me,
let us lie down
upon this land.

III. Ancient Land

I see your burdens, old man.
I trace your footsteps
on my rugged skin,
season after season:
a story of work, sweat, and time.

When you wept in sorrow,
I held your tears in my roots;
as I revealed beauty to your gaze,
pleasure came to your face.

I see you, old crow, in the sky—
as your wings carve the circles of life,
trusting the whims of the wind
yet you take rest at my feet at dusk.

I see the wisdom of the ancestors
in both your eyes,
and the love of children in your hearts.
Now all call out to you:
Death is not an absence,
but a necessary passage—
a return to the land that bore you:
the sacred realm.


SLRCawaja
July 4 2025
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