The crows rest their bodies along the wires,
slicken the dusk to night as dark reclaims
the sky and obscures the old orchards’ floors.
A blackness dips autumnal branches, takes
a hold of everything the day had made.
The caws that filled the air still linger here,
still claw this space and make a nest of weight
that echoes through the trees. Within the pears
are wings of dark. The beady eye of night
has opened. Apples drip and drop with frost.
Their silvered leaves are cloaked, these orchards stern
and thick with bird that overtake the light
as more appear. They rise in silent caws
on twilit wings. The winter has returned.
Poem originally appeared in Etchings c/o Illura Press, 2010. Etchings ran from 2006-2014.