Crows

           1.

Across the cloudy sky,
a swarm of crows blows by, 
each cawing bird a silhouette,
each pair of black-fingered wings
flying tattered, 
like bits of broken kite
resigned to the gale.

           2.

At dusk, a thousand crows 
weave among tangled
trunks and branches.
Glossed feathers
glint yellow with sunshine,
glowing like fireflies.

Scott Speck
03/04/2001