riding the top-most
branch of the tree

as it bows to the wind
the crow dips down

and then
thrusts its beak upwards

cracking
the black wedge

it calls out
and ***** its head

listening -
off in the distance

beyond the glass
unheard by me

it detects a response
and glances over its shoulder

meeting my gaze
for a moment

each other looking
seeing and being seen

and then it
launches into the breeze

leaving me sailing
in a black eye’s bead



Tom Spencer © 2019