All I Hear Them Say

an eruption of crows into an ivoried sky
I have seen so many times
yet never quite the same toward what I see

and wondered have they come again
to write on clouds, to caw in this way
so that I am overawed

and look for cloudy symbols all my own
oh to light my way for

if this were music they would cause me to say
what is the motif, leitmotif endlessly, ceaselessly.
but I hear

there is no place, no place to stay and this is cold.
so they wander then settle restlessly, cryptically
mystically in the trees.so that the light turns gold

momentarily

are they precursors of the russet turning of the day only

or emblems from some folk tale set
in the wide jewel of the sky, a restive caligraphy
or do they mention to the trees

merely in passing
to the trees who are always askiing

it is time for the losing of leaves
for the disconsolation of all things
take wing or weeping as you may

for that is all
I hear them say.
on any given immortal day.

mary angela douglas 27 january 2018