Crow Window Translations

 

old work.
Crow Window Translations, original photo, inkjet print on cotton muslin, randomly stitched to black cotton.
I love crows.
They used to descend on Terre Haute each winter in much greater numbers than I've seen in recent years.
They appear frequently in my poems.
Here's one:

Crow has danced in the last of yesterday’s small snow,
old leaves are a tangle of decaying stars in the mud.
A far pale sun promises things: warm bones,green.
As always,the trees are being here now, mindful,
perfectly aligned in each bare moment,
and Death drifts through the blue shadows,humming
a song you almost know.