Crow Teaches the Song of Himself
I walk out into kelp-smell, clouds of swifts rising,
and one fine crow, taking, like me, the air.
Through striped poppies with orange flauntings
sulfur-colored mustard, wild tomatoes –
and here’s that one fine crow,
swanking down the path ahead of me.
Ah, how he is taken with himself!
How he knows he adorns the day!
For the whole sky rides in his blue-black feathers
and the sun of his yellow eye.
And I too swank – I too in his wake
loaf and stroll and glint my shining eyes
at a pack of truant gulls whooping and helling
round a squadron of portly pelican beadles
at leapfrog terns and peregrines
and small black-and-yellow bees in the lupine.
And I nod to right and left over my gleaming
shoulders, fine as this briny day.