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A MURDER OF CROWS
The marine layer has not yet unhinged itself from morning
In the clearing near the baseball fields
The usually raucous crows gather silently in a saw-toothed circle
Around a single black teardrop
That twitches from time to time
Raises a glossy black beak to the sky
From where it has fled
Here our circles are smaller, tighter
Just a son or a daughter
To quietly tend
We don't gather until it is over
Until the breathing has stopped and the beating quiets
Until it is time to say goodbye
We don't gather
Without this certainty of loss
That makes us unafraid of silence
Do they make the same excuses?
"It is too far to fly in the fog"
"The winter's been hard"
"The flock is too spread out right now to gather"
Or for them does the warm gray sky alone
Hold promise enough
To reach into the ground
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