of crows, they who first saw me at the retreat: week in ohio, more than a little death at my heels. five or six of them, the crows, perched and rattling a dead-top tree, cackled me down a good morning (returned). a good morning (returned) is what I am seeking; that elusive memory of sunup unhaunted by husband daniel. seeking that breeze unbothered, but there are hornets in ohio too, late june, that inject death their own ways. in my attic room one made a brooch of itself, pi...
