The Crows

The crows followed up the muddied still snow covered trail

And when I wait catch breath they caw

And speak in unintelligible language as if planning

Quite complex these messages it keeps them

Rhythmic and alert linked and sublime

Always one hundred feet above they mistake for dead

I who follow the brook up up up

Lay naked on melting ice patches

Scream back in reverence at the flying

Black as starless noir they gather more more