After the Train Crash
Crows move in.
They perch quietly
in the coaches looking at us
from their window seats.
For us it’s a strange thing to see
but the crows know.
They are staring, waiting patiently
as if willing us to move on
so that the sky can also move on
and not just hang there
so low, so still.
We tend to the wounded
and the dead.
The crows peck at the cracked windows,
they want the sky to come inside,
and it does
it begins to seep into the coaches
writhing volumes of grey
forming firming spaces,
cloudy forms
between the crows.
The crows
are eagerly facing forward now.
The sky-formed spaces
seem to wave goodbye at us
as everything moves on.
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