They were so many. Dusk just & flying low
Over the viaduct that spans Geddes & Franklin
Crows gathered to roost & feed, wave on wave
Like bats escaping a Pyrenean cave, or
A ribbon of tape on which was played the music
Of crows. We saw it all from cars, following
Each other more accurately than migration,
Tail-lights more beautiful than the confusion
Which was crows filling the night with black stars,
Landing awkward in sumac as if the tape played
Backward, teeming around the driver's cab
Of a freight train in such numbers I lost
The thread, as when one awakens & cannot
Piece a dream, or when I unravel the weave
Of memory & find myself in another life.