Crow, Passing

Crow, Passing

A crow landed high in the cedar
above me
unusually quiet.
He looks at old prints
of animals who have passed
below the tree:
The delicate split of a doe,
wolf-like paw of the neighborhood dog,
little blemishes of mice, moles, and
kin.

Then turns to a vein of sap
running glazed and white,
tastes its sweet, and
when all things are in order
raises his head, takes the scent,
then unfurls into the breeze.