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Friday, April 8, 2011

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.

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