Gonzalo Mendez


Twenty Four Crows

With my hand to the sun
I count them from left to right
Oh, how they scream
this murder of crows.

They dance and clamor
encouraging the sun to set faster
craving the arrival of shade
to offer rest for their tired talons.

I dream about this kingdom of wings
draped in funeral black
answering only to one another
singing our angry trebles

Peering down in all of their sophistication
One judges and the others agree
Oh, how they scream
this murder of crows.
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