Kelly Matthews English
Last night crows paused
on their way to roost
in the sycamore outside our window
and we watched them bat and banter
like any group of creatures in a small space.
They have the sky, of course
yet they choose this
closeness which is to say, togetherness
which is not to say, love.
In spring they will separate and build their nests
as pairs.I sat the hardwood and you stood, chins
meeting at the windowsill
purple-black studding on grey wash.
“Fall is gone,” they said
over and over, in tune
with some signal among them
rising in a swell of wings they go
becoming all the answers they need.
How can there be so many of them
and only one of you?