The fish crows mew, squawk, and quack in their muted, nasal voices.
They utter their stories as they fly along the river.
Vaulting through the trees, they follow me,
Their dark staccato notes
Wrap my heart
In pairs in daylight,
And roost in the trees at night,
Undulating masses of feather and bone.
I wonder what they see from their perches that sway,
Their warm hearts beating in the darkness. Do they feel the weight of mine?
© M. G. Iannucci 2016
Photo: E.J. Peiker