By Annette Marie Hyder
The treetop branches tilted with largess,
filled with dark flowers creaking against the sky.
As many trees as would fit a giant’s sweaty fist
with trunks made small as bouquet stems in hand.
Double-taking, I saw that the thunder-blooms
were crows arrayed still life and silent
with their heads aligned and looking at the road.
Coming and going I saw this.
It was a striking picture and yet, I had no desire —
no quite the opposite, an aversion —
to taking a photo of it. I couldn’t tell you why.
(NaPoWriMo day 22, poem 22)