The crows had been gone for a couple of days.
I noticed the bread crumbs hadn’t been eaten
and thought they’d lost their taste for whole wheat
but when a fresh salmon skin sat untouched
I knew something was up, a crow convention
or an earthquake coming,
thinking apocalyptic as the skin dried
and the bread hardened, wondering
about a world without crows
and what the silence would tell us
when the birds were gone.
Last night moon broke through the clouds
and in the stillness with the ebb softly flowing,
luna’s light across the water,
I forgot about the crows
though I still missed them
and let the oneness with Her go deep
in union like the days of old
before the tweet and ring tone.
I settled into the rock and the earth beneath
letting my desire surface as I rarely do,
falling asleep still looking out to sea,
knowing She was there but wanting to know
that I was still in touch with what I loved.
In the morning the crows were back;
they’d spent all their money in Vegas
and were pretty hung over
but said they’d had a good time
before eating their stale bread and dried skin
as I sat on my bench in the early breeze
still filled with a feeling of wonder
and the muttering of crows.