A midnight-caped crow lit down at dawn
on the yard.
Privately, I peered out from my window
pane tracing his elvish gait.
I watched him jab in the lawn and grab
at my grass in that murderous, lacquer-
beaked mask of his.
Then, in a wink, he veered to life off and,
as he caught the next breeze, the black
rascal eyed me wide over his slick
and sweeping jet wing.
I wonder how he spoke to his people of me.