God in Her Infinite Wisdom Sends Crows
by Christina Pacosz

For weeks now God has been trying
to send messages with what is available.
Leaves, a thousand eyelids opening,
the iridescent scrawl of slugs,
mundane waterfalls dripping off eaves,
the rare sunlight
and daily gift of mud.

And God has been especially
persistent about sending crows.
Suddenly black feathers
appear at my feet.
Cr aa a k  audible above the thunk of my axe,
the ringing phones at the office.
The visibility of crows

Sunday strutting on the fence,
their middle of the week, middle class
plump edge, dark before the salt
and foam of waves.
The self satisfaction of crows
in the wind and on mowed lawns.
God guarantees crow call on waking,

the only sure thing all day.
I see wings, dark, indecipherable
statements in a gray sky.
When I am certain no one is about
I strike…