Morning thoughts

I cupped my cup, watched crows rush through the blurry
crack of morning, evicted by a whiteout wind.

Dots, my thoughts, blown apart by the start
of the workday. Where do they go while I clack the keys?

At lunch I saw one clutch a ruffled, spotted
lettuce leaf edged with brown, it hung loosely from his

craw. Maybe he finished the rest, saved
the best for last, full, unwilling to let it go – in case.

Another crow perched on an eave gutter,
scraped, bobbed, ignored the pigeon cloud above

whirling, returning, a shoreless wave,
they waited for him to relinquish their stolen roost.

We raced home together at the end of the day,
me on the road below rushing to hold just one

– just one – but they win again rendering
the sky black, their bodies thousands of snuffed candles.

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5 thoughts on “Morning thoughts

  1. “Dots, my thoughts, blown apart by the start of the workday…”

    That has such nice rhythm and internal rhyme—as well as being what is probably a universal feeling—that it not only rings true, but is, to me, very memorable.

"The river flows both ways." (Margaret Laurence)

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