The Earth

Crows kept us up all night, mass of them with their chalky cries like laughter masking their feelings from bone-hard mouths. They are fierce looking birds, black cold-yellow beads in their eye sockets. Next morning we find an adolescent crow flopping around in the English Ivy, trying to fly with wings flattened against the leaves. Over the day the youth pulls itself into the protection of the trees and bushes. High up the family cries and calls him, the gathering clan laugh calling, conversing high in the branches. In their bone bound faces, We are here.