by Samuel Day Wharton

when the crows crack against
the morning often they are chasing
a hawk from some other world
to this one       & often the magpies
in turn chase the crows
back to where they came from
(corvid after corvid after raptor)
in unending loops)
& I am thinking in the sun     I am thinking
in the sun that this murder lives in the cemetery
across the highway     across the light rail tracks
& does not sleep
except when I am sleeping &
that waking to magpies & crows &
hawks is not so bad &
how that is better than the rage building building
building into that place
we can never come back from

Samuel Day Wharton lives in California, where he makes wine & writes poems. His poetry has appeared (or will appear) in Malarkey’s The Grift v. 2, Wild Roof Review, anti-, No Tell Motel, Versal & others. You can find him online at ‪@fakeourway.bsky.social