Crow

You should have seen her glow

After all the dirt was gone.
She had her cart. She was all clean.

She was shining

Change, change
We all see each other changing

At night, in the dark, there is no fire.
On a hill, through the trees, just off the side of the road.
With their sandals and boots they know the trail to camp.
They drink, smoke, keep one another safe.
Sleep under the stars.

They watch everyone always changing.

Wild Indians yelling, running down woods and dirt, happy and lost, at home.
Loud and drunk, just off the reservation.
Then falling noiseless on cement, young, asleep.

They watch each other change.
People look down on them.
They watch everyone change.

Heaving bodies in the night.
Keep everybody warm.
You should have seen her transform.

Eyes of gold.
Eyes of gold.
Her houri skull has eyes of gold.
I can’t sleep at night I think of her – Alone.
You should have seen her transform.

What happens at night when most are home asleep under covers with no cares?
Who worries?

Who is that woman in the camp there?
She looks older than before.
Her soul is painted like Mother Theresa.
The woman there is our mother.
For everyone.

Have you seen her change?

A crow plucks a feather from the high-wire.

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