No Listening Crows

by Judith Vaughn

On my walk I talk to a crow sitting on a wire. “Hello, you

seemed to be building a nest in the oak the other day.” Her head

cocked, she listens intently. A distant caw calls her to flight.

Celebrations, rites of renewal begin. Trees birth new buds

like a thousands stars. Yellow poppies open tight-fisted corollas

to warming sun. Magnolias bloom, purple goddesses sway

on branches in the wind.

Birds come: black crows, jeweled hummers, brilliant blue jays,

red headed, boisterous woodpeckers. Gathering string, twigs,

thread, they build nests to shelter the coming young. Sun

and moon and stars dance on eggs until they break open to life.

Ukraine day and night, singing birds, embryonic trees    

bomb silenced. Heaven shudders in death’s echo. Seasons

wander aimlessly. No celebrations       no listening crows.

© Judith Vaughn