that
crow posing
atop
that power pole
stares
at the western sea
random
feathers lift
on
horizon’s breath
an
onshore breeze
pushing
a
marine layer
over
blue ice plant,
red
poker plants,
and
a coastal cypress leaning
drunkenly
across ruins
of
civilization.
his
kind
flew
here before people,
pulling
clams
with
a knife-like beak
from
salty wet sand
to
scavenge the tide line.
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