What started as a summer collection of poems and readings fifteen years or so ago has become a regular repository for writings that strike me as pertinent for the time. But I am not sure what I was thinking when my response to this poem about the theologian Kierkegaard, was thankfully I am no longer a crow…..
What a business the crow makes
lifting a foot, then down,
then the other, down too,
squawks – black –
oh, about flying,
but not fliying,
stamping the branch,
working its wings,
clinging like a lump
to its own fuss,
flaps up at last
in a kind of a flight.
I love a kingfisher
you can only see
by a flash of blue-
do what it must do.
by Edward Morgan