From this side, dry, without
benefit of steady rain,
it is hard to know
if two crows flying
from one gabled roof
to another are
more or less than
a murder of old friends
undaunted by gray skies
and mid-April’s touch
of winter not yet
willing to let go.
Perching, one leans
to the other as if
to share a private joke.
They fly, trailing laughter
over earth bright with rain today.
