Crows

One, two, three,
three crows in a row,
flying westward, through grey clouds;
over the rooftops and towards the harbour.

Ten, eleven, twelve,
twelve crows in a row,
flying in a murder, following their leader,
above the trees, towards the sea.


Twenty, thirty, forty,
forty crows in a row,
calling to each other, flying together,
working out the reason for the setting sun.


One, two, three hundred,
three hundred crows in a row,
happy to be free, feeling for each other,
flying through clouds, towards the open sea.

Glen Wheeler
August, 1997
Vancouver