The black crows in a crowd
move as one dark, storm driven cloud
across my peripheral vision
at the blurred division
twixt night
and light:

I love the crows
of the moment,
their unitary motion.

I love my life.


What is my life,
but seeing
black crows cloud?

What is my life,
but the warm veil
now around me
as I walk into
my place of work?

To love my life
is to love my work,
the lifting of hands,
the come and go.

To love my work
is to love my life.

You knew that was coming?
Did I say
there was some secret?


Across the sun’s
a flash of dark

A speeding crow.