Tonight is wonderful,
considering. Earth
is never urged
to be so indigo,
so chilled.
Two crows settled
in my tree, a boring mutt
of oak and pine
outside my kitchen window.
I see their rainbow necks
twisting while I eat breakfast.
Naturally, my dreams
are no longer good thinking grounds:
swooping shadows
on noon sky. Dead bird,
under the wire.
Dead Bird, under the wire.
My mouth opens
and there is a beak inside.
It begs the question,
did I shoot too far?
A prairie made of sidewalk blocks,
shaved bark speckling all of it.
Leave a Reply