There were a thousand crows
Asleep in their rookery
Before the winter sun rose.
I rise with them, insomniac weary,
And pour into the hollow
Of my brain the blustery
Anticipations to follow,
What I must and cannot do,
And what time will allow.
One crow caws. I answer “You!
Think you!” as though he knows
The universe might offer a clue.
As he staggers away, it snows.
