To a Chorus of Crows

The trees are full of the thick loud fruit of crows,

dancers, talking in tongues. Touched by

fullness they sway back and forth, wailing

something more than the snow or the sky.

Dancers, talking in tongues, Touched by

the stony sky and the dancing trees,

something more than the snow or the sky.

My eyes, wider now than they've ever been.

The stony sky and the dancing trees.

They move like drunks, teetering.

My eyes, wider now than they've ever been.

Back and forth, the trees are swaying.

They move like drunks, teetering,

We dance full of winter sickness,

Back and forth, the trees are swaying

with me, to a chorus of crows.

We dance full of winter sickness,

of the grimy snow and the gray sky.

With me, to a chorus of crows,

We dance full of the cold cry.

Of the grimy snow and the gray sky,

We dance with no meaning, only breathing,

We dance full of the cold cry,

and at the end I fall with the trees.

We dance with no meaning, only breathing

fullness. We sway back and forth, wailing

and at the end I fall with the trees,

the trees, full of the thick loud fruit of crows.

Author's Note

Poor old attempt at pantoum - was just reading one so wanted to get mine up here.