Crow

A speck of blue to the dark grey sky,
Disappear to hunting eyes: Wings folded
Like grey clouds on a shiney black night, and
A red throat of drying dawn; On an afternoon sun,
Like a world: alone, and plenty together-
Each reflecting a darker Sun: 
A lighter sky, By the eyes; Hooked up grips on logs,
Towers, walls and trees, some on wires running,
To reach a change: picking paper, plastic, and
Cigarette boxes: Quarells laid over
Tearing crusts of shelter, hunting food, lying
By silent night on a railway track, or 
Empty flats: drinking by rain, and
Fed by litter.