Crow by Rosemary Blake

A crow settles 
on the crown 
of the Norway spruce 
dislodging snow.

How thin 
the foliage 
against the fence,

the intersection’s
red and green lights
growing clearer
through the branches
every year.

I spend too much 
time at the window,

watch, too long, the line
of darkening trees, a cloud-
inflected sky.

It is growing late.

Traffic streams 
neon in the wet streets.

~ from Wintering (Ekstasis Editions, 2007)