a group of rowdy ravens
makes a ruckus in the locust trees
up at the airport-
there are the beginnings of rain on Drake Hill
as I deliver new phonebooks.
Funny that I remember a line from Jon Pearl-
'It'd be great to be a big black bird
carousing in the sky-
but then you'd have to eat BUGS'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem