Christianne Balk (1953)

Sun salved, we sit on the front porch, careful
when we speak, watching the crows swagger near
the property line, dabbing – what. A nest
of grubs? Ice-wintered berries? New grass shoots?
Such purposeful pecking. They pause, sky-tipped.
Resume their work. Curious, we step close –
a starling twitches at their feet. One eye
gone, the other blinking fast, rib cage open
to the sun as the snow unravels from