Crows

by

Devin Harrison

 

 

On the dunes the crows
stand as tall as I do,
a threatening demeanor

when I consider
the ever-changing
sand. They drop

down, plant cryptic
messages all around me.
I can still move away

from them, try to stand
taller, but sometimes
I imagine myself finally

fallen here, my skin
eroded by wind. Age
has a way of dissolving

flesh, crows have a way
of planting their feet
across my face.