Here’s another poem from my book Digging for God;
The presence of Crows, Halifax
I’ve been longing to see the flash of black,
gold, white, the evening,
the evening grosbeak,
but all I see,
all that greets me from the lawn
are crows – murders of them.
One befriended by the lure of peanuts,
less wary, less skittish,
but bright black eye shining
in shining black head
black feet walk toward me
toward the peanut at my feet.
How near will he come?
He has a call I’ve not heard before
from any bird.
Is he calling for company to share the peanut?
It’s a rolling of sound out of his back,
a wave of sound like a human sound,
invitation, a comment of welcome.
In this northern country
I long to see the birds
who never come our way,
but all I get is
an abundance of crows.