Protection for The Dead

deadcrow

Beneath corroding foliage
A crow writhes from a crippled wing.
I enter its thoughts to compose a narrative-
Caw clarifies help
I advance forward
With
Inch tall shuffles
The crow’s associates advance aggressively
Swooping close enough
To pick hairs off my scalp.

I retreat to watch it die.

Protection as useful
As an expiration date.

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