CROWS
From a single grain they have multiplied
When you look in the eyes of one
you have seen them all.
At the edges of highways
they pick at limp things.
They are anything but refined.
Or they fly out over the corn
like pellets of black fire,
like overlords.
Crow is crow, you say?
What else is there to say?
Drive down any road,
take a train or an airplane
across the world, leave
your old life behind,
die and be reborn again---
wherever you arrive
they'll be there first,
glossy and rowdy,
and indistinguishable.
The deep muscle of the world.
---Mary Oliver
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