An Explanation for That Flock of Crows
A thread of birds has settled outside your door. Spring is coming, and you lean back,
Waiting for its root-juicy kiss. Politely, charmingly.
Once, during a summer, you came without shoes, without any maps, and settled
Into my elbow while this hemisphere turned blue.
We were urban, unkind animals and I never once thought of champagne.
How often you'd want me to tell you your future. Show me your palms, the lumps on your head,
As if I knew what my mother knows best: how to inflame things at a distance.
Now, you think of me with a casual chuckle. Now, you save me like an auctioned-off bon-bon:
Brought out on a doily for guests to admire. I know, and it's all in my pocket.
Just press your ear against your back door. There's a sound I've sent.
It's there to haunt you. Like a cello. Like a buzzsaw.
I hope you're enjoying yourself.