Next

only the crow own these swirling rows
of a scarred forgotten cornfield
they are countless in this wondrous dusk
fencerows that frame their glorious poem
are darker than the dusk
darker than the next hint of loneliness
the crow become their own dark words
loudly shouting to all crow and man
spellbound all
in a knowing
tattered
wind

jppestana
Next
11-9-2018

It Was

as if the crow
had accidentally scratched
the blue from sky
as if just by being
they had somehow stopped the earth in its tracks
tied the axis of me in knots
as if there was anything to it
as if after all this
crow in their deliberate silence
thick wings moving blackly
push past the sun
pass me as if it was
us

jppestana
It Was
11.3.2018