As The Crow Flies
The crows stumbled through the sky
As though the air had thinned
And the effort to stay aloft was doubled
Yet they recovered, flap by flap
not seeming to catch any air
but falling ever towards their roost
Had it been a hard day in the park,
by the gardens, or fighting with gulls
Or was this phenomenon going to steal my breath?
The scarecrow remained stitch-lipped,
his button eye seeing through me
Maybe the day was tired
and making air was a struggle?
Wait, the telephone wires are shifting…
Might it be that violent breezes
slam about above, angry with some nuisance
Did they dislike the birds,
whom we watch with care…
whilst being invisible, we completely
ignore the air?
The Jealous wind
The wounded crow
The hour of twilight
draws in and chases the light
who seems happy to watch it all
until its sleepy eye is closed