In the Land of Crows

Your black, iridescent
shiny feathers
glisten in the sunlight
as you swoop out
of the heavens,
as low as my car,
to greet me,
and wish me well.

Your brother
once sang me
a good morning song
down in the southlands
where sage draws
desert waters
for its juice
and blue skies
surround my brain.

I’m glad I live
in the land of crows.
Their wingspan
reminds me
how far I can reach out,
side to side,
because I have more room
to move
than in the land
of smaller birds.
Jyoti