Future Folk Tales: Crow

Midday glare, white highway,
two crows—

pupils of earth’s open eyes.
One dead, one mourning.

She turned away from us,
turned towards the cracked

wing. Her back a testimony.
When the light slanted, she

spoke. I understand greed,
she said. I know scattering

and theft. Amidst all you have
done, I find my way. Your

hearts like glass. Nothing is
hidden, not your loneliness

dark as feathers torn loose,
spun in the gasp of your

shock, your awful wonder
at my grief.

He was my friend.