1.
three crows cross the yard
oblivious to the time, and
with nowhere to go
I spend the morning singing
as I pull weeds from the earth
2.
three crows cross the yard
then vanish in the new leaves
which cover the trees
I see only their shadows;
they are gone when I look up
3.
three crows cross the yard
their blue-black wings stir the air
with tessellations
this poem is like all the others:
old patterns within patterns
(March 30, 2023)
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