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| Brushed ink and watercolor, Endre Penovac |
With so much unsaid, you rock
in your great grandmother's chair
on the cabin porch in the woods,
oak on oak among oaks.
The rain has stopped, evening rises
into the boughs where four crows have landed,
croaking and gleaming and heavy,
touching off a second rain, leaf to ground,
bough to fern, mind to heart.
They live in extended families, crows do,
parents and fledglings, aunts and uncles,
cousins and grandparents— you remember
the comfort of kin, you remember.
Orinthlogists believe crows recognize faces,
they know you, crows do, they read
your intentions, they know
you welcome their company,
and they keep their distance.
