Seeing the crows:
To Elena
Crows upon crows between dog walkers
in the park, moving shadows, yellow beaks
and cruel eyes, sinister again and again.
They collect about a man who is shooing
them away. I get closer and see his bike
on the grass with a bag beside it. He throws
white things at the crows and they bubble
around it. He’s feeding them. They cluster
and crowd, crowing and cackling, leaping
the food into their throats. One gull –
two gulls break up the black. The bag’s right there,
half-open. They can see it, I know they can.
Why won’t they go for it? Why fight over scraps
when the cornucopia is so close? The crows
fly above, spreading long shadows on the grass.
Devils they are, and stupid too.
The Kindling 