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