INTRO TO MYTH AND SYMBOL
Crows are assembling massively out front,
blown into the yard by winter’s foaming clouds.
It must mean something, this careening arrival
on a Thursday gust. But my eyes find no words.
This goes way back to classical times,
this getting stopped mid-sentence
by the noisy strut of crows. I search phrases
from school notes, Kafka, oracles of war.
I can’t recall the references.
I didn’t think we’d need them.
The birds are still picking through the
thin cold grass, and I’m guessing
they’ll be here only a couple minutes more
before they flit and soar and live out
their raven ripeness elsewhere.
They’re glancing in that direction now,
beyond the TV tower, black vectors
poised to pivot west.
I hope they get on safely, away
from these hot wires and cars
and objects – us – all these
dangerous myths and symbols.
© copyright 2019 Ray Waddle