A murder of crows
peck at a carcass
beneath the old Spruce
Likely dragged there
by a coyote after feasting
They do that sometimes
a brazen act of rebellion
our bricked presence
blocking the path
I reached for the phone
this morning, wanting to relay
current events, and then…stopped
remembering you are gone
only my carcass remains, rots
at the mocking of crows
Coyotes are tricksters, they say
and I feel picked apart
preyed upon on my own path
the wounds of the past
inviting the mind’s vultures.
What is it all about
this mortality/ immortality?
A dove rests on the porch rail
sleeping despite the crow fray
Peace slumbers on this mournful day.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 