"Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
Often have I been to it,
Even to its highest tower,
From whence the world looks black."
|Ivan Bilibin (1910)*|
A pair of crows owns the parkade,
the one downtown, with the right front
corner collapsed down three floors.
The perfect place for the veritable nest
in which their hatchlings wait, ugly,
hungry heads wobbling, beaks wide to the sky.
The crows throw shadows
like chunky crucifixes
which slide along the edge of city walls
and deserted sidewalks.
There is something of the battlefield, here.
but all bones have been picked clean.
Fireblossom Friday has us cooking with crow.
*Illustration for poem "Two Crow" by Alexander Pushkin