Crows

Here innumerable

The constant of the streets

In tenements and low places

Captured in the wild within the superlative

Lost low looking at leftovers

The detritus of civilization

Every measure of us has known it

Though none have cared barked equilibrium

Nothings, outweighing the rich, sit humble

Until that day of absolute revolution

When equality will seize a new morning

In a bird my soul resides

Black and in a murder

Knowing all faces and incidents

Forever locked in the trees and power lines

Too intelligent to be captured or bent upon

I have been here before

Too many times by count

And in remembering I am all confusion

For in place of myself I see something other

Something winged and free

That I can only dream of