Two Crows Glide

Two crows glide
Like petrol seeds
In the breeze,

The mighty buzzard
Like a hole in the sky;

Upwards I go,
Onto it’s back,
The logo on a sweater,
The crest on a cap,
Then nowhere.

Looking down on myself,
The myriad of mistakes!
Crossed wires;

In a back garden
I see my ambitions
Rolling around
In a bird bath,

Branches randomly
Fall from trees,

Dancing shadows of pollen
Mouth songs,

And then I drop closer
And closer
Until I am lying
On the grass,

The trunk
Of a sycamore
My head
From my shoulders.

One Response to “Two Crows Glide”

  1. My father taught a crow to speak. But it could only say a little.

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