I do not know what your name is,
but I will call you “crow,” for you remind me
of your cousins back home.
You catch my eye
streaks of blue and white against black,
rather than America’s squawking midnights
You seem surprised at the metropolis
that has sprung up around you.
Head tilted, you call to your friends, and fly
tree to power line, power line to tree
Sorry about missing the verse last week. I pulled my back and could barely get out of bed. All better now. Hope you like this one. Squawk.
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