Crows

Crows

In twilight’s mist
a dash of black
pierces through fog

Turning my head I see crows
Dancing like notes pulsing across a scattering page
Synchronized wings carry them, as if one
from the ground, pure white with snow
into winter’s bare trees

perched crows polka dot the branches
they wait

waiting

for a slight sway of a conductor’s baton
for the music to begin
for the next dance