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after a summer
in the country
i'm back
in the city
for the dullest
of reasons:
make money.
after all day
prepping the job
i'm ready for
the cemetery--
our favorite place
to walk.
autumn is
the season
the sun
slants low,
days shorten,
and birds
go south...
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but not crows!
they flock
like clockwork
to treetops,
no mere murder
but a council clad
in ebony robes--
god, they're so goth!
have you ever seen
one skip a chance
to peck a corpse?
in this regard
we disappoint,
like fruit that is
not yet ripe.
they'll abide.
their ancient gaze
is full of disdain,
looking down on
prime real estate
claimed, even here,
by the same names
street signs bear
near Pioneer Square.
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but the settler dead
know no rest, a
steady procession
of passenger jets
pays its respects,
eternal engine's
rumble shakes
dust loose in
their crypts.
descending
from the heavens,
roaring their arrival,
faces fill windows,
follow their plane's
cruciform shadow,
black as a hole,
rising to meet them,
looming ever larger
on final approach.
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