You caw outside my window, which makes me look up.
I am the crow.
The omen is a not just an omen, but a messanger, sent to dispense spiritual law, traveler between worlds, seer and traveler of a divide in time.
Haver of both it and me and no longer, possesser of item. I am simply the crow.
Complicated too, and complicatedly the crow, because I am not a crow, I am a human being, obviously, because crows can’t type letters, but I am listening the caw of the crow as I write to you, whoever is listening, even if ut anyone is at all, and
Where do you go?
What do you see?
What do you desire me to be?