Francis Santaquilani


Caw


The January wind

Freezes a crow

In mid-flight

And mid-caw

And suspends it

In the icy blue sky.

It's black eyes bulge.

Its caw,

Stuck on high,

Dogs me deep

Into a corn field,

Slicing through

All the crunching and

Rustling of the brittle,

Frost tinged

Corn stalks

Scraping my coat

As I brush by.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Edited: Monday, December 12, 2011
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