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Winter Landscape with Crow

by Carol Rucks


The silhouette of black trees

sharpens the whiteness of snow.

I walk off the dream again—

his mouth full of tenderness,

his hair akimbo, hands searching

in the dark with nimble curiosity.

I wonder if anyone ever refused him,

turned him out, just said no?

That was the problem, tree.

That was the problem, snow.

Now I am alone on a black and white

inland road, catching the flight of a single crow,

my collar up, my eyes full of wonder.