A Murder of Crows

Orange and flaming The redwood tree’s trunk in sparkling fires So many red barked knotted giants gone Leaves crinkled like fireplace paper Animals gone, squirrels and rabbits scorched Baby bears climbing and hiding in a few trees 945 houses gone no reason to stay No place to go, Oregon and Washington in flames Particles minuscule lay in the air But it is the quietness of the crows Creates a feeling of dread The large one, the one I know Who comes each morning A living early alarm demanding nuts Yesterday I saw him just sitting He sat on the fence post Staring at me as I washed dishes Quiet and watching as though He wants to know what have we done To his home, where are his children His murder of crows gone Where and why— still he stares He wants to know And so do I