Kissed awake

Kissed awake

By the flight of a Crow

The noise it made on landing

The look it gave in passing

He knew me

And would write about our

Encounter

In his memoir

A book of birdsong

The coffee in the cup screamed

In need of drinking

The heat of it

Warming my soul

Filling my heart

With the rightness

Of breathing.

In and out.

The light of morning

Brightening the sky,

The wind, blowing an

Early warning

Of other times

When the rains come

The storm drains flood

The Plovers

Lose their hatchlings

Even as they dance madly

Shouting me down

For being in the wrong place

And not the first to do so

Nor will they be the last.

The Crow will write about it

In his memoir

Cocking a snook

At the irony

Of using a quill.

Not that he would mind

Making the kill,

It is in his nature,

In the right circumstances

Perhaps it is in us all.