The clean, well-shaven February snow
sports a bluish inclination towards the tree.
As like as two peas,
or buttons in a row,
a Crow and another Crow,
are sat.
Immersed in contemplation
of shadow hands that draw across the plain,
a plainer still, time evidence. Remain
two seconds – face change – there you go,
two minutes fly, and press the sky to rise
above, and cut the birds to size,
and sense,
of signs that don't read. Below
are fields and tracks. It snows.
And stubble grows
in sites unheeded by the Crows.
2015.
The Crows
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №215020701556
Свидетельство о публикации №215020701556
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