Not quite a crow, but a similar sight. Its call is haunting a soul in the night. I am the answer, or so says this one. A final proclamation, and the story is done.

Time's arrow am I, Always to make things die. Never to make whole, to spread is my role. Never am I less, All in all, I am the mess.

Broken pieces that can't be mended, remnants of a libation upended. Smoothed by salt and sea and time, worthless gemstones in their prime.

I replicate a natural form, of that which brews inside a storm. Fill me on-site, hold me just right, and we will sustain life tonight. There's no need to undress, or make a mess...we're doing it all in plain sight!

I'm a constellation glittering over the birds who dance, you'd do the same to your neck to catch a glance. With a camera, I make films complete. A couple centuries ago, I held kettles to heat. In some forms, I have an arm yet am fully machine.