Monday Poem
Speed and Trouble Sunday……………… —my head spinssuddenly it’s Saturday again wind whistles through hoursdays are bullet trains yet in this garden long as the space of a light yearcrows drop in to listen for the bristleof worms making way belowthrough a sea dark as biker leathersblack as predator feathers I love these crows……………………… —being sowe-are-masters-of-this-row…