Crows

I want to write about these crows
That flap and glide in the winds
That whip around this yellow hill;
The sun glints off dead grass.

I want to express in new and profound ways
Their flights, their freedoms and plights
On this mottled rock beneath uncertain skies;
Five hundred feet above the city,
Five hundred thousand individually packaged lives.

I want to speak to you, dear reader,
To change you, to leave something.

But as I stand on the edge of this ochre cliff
Language fails me,
The cold updraft batters my body into lightness,
My mind forgets all thought of
Terrestrial troubles.
I unzip my black jacket
And let the zephyrs sweep me away
Into the boundless sky.

Joe Blogs, 2017