Gaja - The living Planet

Crow Land

The air is cooler at dawn, sound
travels further, from the dawn chorus
to a blackbird’s rapid scolding call,
as the crows appear, growing black
ink splotches on patchy rice paper skies.

The two carrion crows are chasing
a leveret racing in zigzags
down muddy tracks, now
in hiding under a blackthorn hedge.
A wood pigeon and a collard dove
vacate the chestnut tree in protest.

Since there is something unheard
in this early chase by blood brothers,
as the ear is honed only to a few
decibels, the mind must listen beyond
sounds, tune in to higher vibrations
funnelling bird meaning.

A chase is not always about survival
or attraction but a call for life at the edge,
as if birds were unearthly, their shape
opaque illusion in simulated flight,
as if wings were ghostly hands

to urge and wave on
stagnant air flow,
play down crop thieving
or flutters over fidelity.

By circling the tree tops
crow land is built
with crow energy and crow voice.
Crow laws are issued in crow language.
Translation sets frontiers in keep-out-pattern
yet claiming links between the living world
and the fields of death.

In the east the three-legged sun crow
keeps on chasing the white moon hare.
Here the spirit is craw-music, tongues
in the air. Riddles of death and rebirth
that live on carrion, sneak iridescence
into bleak blackness.

Gaja - The living Planet

scharliem

Faringdon, United Kingdom

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