Dreams of an ethereal estate, a caged aviary.
Ravens flutter among the rhododendrons
Blood red and weeping.
She ruled with iron-willed certainty.

A certainty that seems so alien to me.
The rhododendrons liquify outside my window.
They melt and coalesce, pooling
The Ravens lap hungrily at the brine.

Probing the bromine puddle
With puncturing beaks
For scraps of inspiration
That might open the aviary to them.

They’ll never find it.
I pity them, truly.
So devoid of colour.
I suppose it helps them blend in

Out of sight of hungry predators.
Not like us.
Of course, I could
But then I’d be as bad as them.

As bland as them.
I can think of no worse fate.
It unsettles me how ravenous
They are in their searching.

Manderley is sunk
But is sinking.
How could I live up to her?
Still, I must manage

For the sake of my corvid subjects.
As long as there are more rhododendrons to drink
They’ll not turn on me
And bleed me dry of my inspiration.