Crow

Sweet kid, what is this world we're giving you?
 Smoldering and fascist with no mother
 Are you dreaming about a crow?
 
 In the middle of November we went back into the woods
 Right after breakfast to see if we could see this past August's forest fire zone
 On the hill above the lake, the sky was low and the wind cold
 The trail was closed
 At the barricade I stood listening
 In my backpack you were sleeping with her hat pulled low
 All the usual birds were gone or freezing
 It was all silent except the sound of one crow
 Following us as we wove through the cedar grove
 I walked and you bobbed and dozed
 Sweet kid, we were watched and followed and I thought of Genevieve
 Sweet kid, I heard you murmur in your sleep
 "Crow," you said, "Crow"
 And I asked, "Are you dreaming about a crow?"
 
 And there she was