I saw two crows
huddled on a
freshly plowed cotton field,
in a conspiratory way,
or maybe
they were romantically
sharing a grub,
tenderly leaning
into each others space,
talking of the richness
of Spring’s design,
and the cracking of eggs, theirs,
with tiny chicks intact,
and others newly laid, and
the deliciousness
of warm raw protein.

I heard two crows
voicing their opinions
in a gigantic cottonwood tree,
with a raucous attitude,
or maybe
they were gleefully
singing Life’s lauding,
joyfully bellowing
into the warmth
of the early Spring day,
the harsh croaking, to them,
a lyrical duet,
smooth as sunshine,
glowingly dulcet,
a song of avian power.

I watched two crows
dancing in the air
over irrigated fields
in a roughhouse manner,
or maybe
they were pirouetting
in Destiny’s mating,
sweepingly dipping,
on the warm breezes
of Spring’s heated gaze,
the twisting progress, to them,
of downs and ups,
stalling and pretend fallings,
rhythmic and timed,
is a vision they displayed
to me.

Erin Moen
3/14/03
Copyright 2003 © 

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2008