December, Your Second Year

Kelly Matthews English


Last night crows paused

on their way to roost

in the sycamore outside our window


and we watched them bat and banter

like any group of creatures in a small space.


They have the sky, of course

yet they choose this

closeness      which is to say, togetherness

which is not to say, love.


In spring they will separate and build their nests

as pairs.I sat the hardwood and you stood, chins

meeting at the windowsill


purple-black studding on grey wash.


“Fall is gone,” they said

over and over, in tune


with some signal among them


                      rising in a swell of wings they go


becoming all the answers they need.

How can there be so many of them

and only one of you?