There is a game the crows play
Banking up the curve of wind
Showing a bit of purple to the hill
All pause and fall
A mother and her son walk the bending path
A view to an old volcano
And earthen almonds built four thousand years ago
But then the docks
She’d meant to buy him the toy robot
He’d wanted it
But there’s a shortage
So she carries a secret gift
Hoping it meets some as yet undiscovered need
They pause and loom across the moors
The crows are fighting off a buzzard
Interested in their young
The sun drops deeper pinker
The submarine cadavers throb
Something old in the ground squirms
Playing the tune of the game’s long pattern
Threads trail from a thorn
And everyone is taller in their shadows as the evening comes
-Stoke Resident, 2022