Steven Schroeder | a likely suspect
Because crows move in murders, they know
a likely suspect when they see one.
They sense lives taken the way we smell
rain on wind after a long dry spell.
On a gray day after wet snow, they
perch out of sight in the highest branches,
blanket the neighborhood with their absence,
cry from treetops like mourners keening
when wingless creatures on two feet make tracks.
They are in flight even when
they strut on the ground, looking askance
at humans passing, wondering out loud
what it is like to be so weighty
one can never fly alone.
Chicago
24 February 2020
from sheltering in place | 2020
