Crows

by Mary Saracino

Crows don’t seek bread

or sheltered warmth

but something else more sustaining

something that defies gravity & time

the whims of shifting seasons

unrelenting heat

bitter cold

sheets of pouring rain

and all the many other

encumbrances life trusts

upon birds & humans;

the crows’ sturdy black wings carry them

over rooftops, treetops, highways

one lands on an eave, turns her head

blinks at the sun glinting off the metal

downspout; another circles an aspen

claims a limb, waits for who knows what

I watch from the sidewalk, head cocked

wondering if crows worry about

sleet and snow and boys with BB guns

or getting safely home

the birds don’t mind if I stare or fret

they leave me to my musing

I sit on the grass, gaze at the clouds

distracted by my own illusions

when I turn back, the crows

have left their roosts, flown away

off to places unknown to me

places beyond the reach of my

limited ways of knowing.