One, two, three,
three crows in a row,
flying westward, through grey clouds;
over the rooftops and towards the harbor.
Ten, eleven, twelve,
twelve crows in a row,
flying in a murder, following their leader,
above the trees, towards the sea.
Twenty, thirty, forty,
forty crows in a row,
calling to each other, flying together,
working out the reason for the setting sun.
One, two, three hundred,
three hundred crows in a row,
happy to be free, feeling for each other,
flying through clouds, towards the open sea.
Glen Wheeler
August, 1990
Vancouver
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