CROW ON THE WIRE

Oily silhouette sees something near the stone house.

He bobs his head and croaks his throat’s abrupt gravel,

then swivels his intention, leans in to castigate

with insistence, assured annoyance.

He lifts his left foot first, shuffles, ruffles his

nightshade wings, then lifts his left foot again.

After a long glare and several twitches in his shoulder,

he lifts his right foot, lines his back parallel to the ground,

perpendicular in practiced symmetry to the wire,

and calls again before he leaves my sight.