Crows

Crows -- black as yesterday's chocolate cake -- uneaten.  Although I have eaten metaphoric crow before. But this is really about two art pieces converging, conversing, and emerging.   From two paintings, a poem happened. From black ink, a tree filled with crows.  As only a poem can, those same crows migrated  to a solitary tree -- a few leaves, birdless.  That's the migratory path of poetry.