Brother

I hear a crow, think,

“Carrion.”  Have to

reconsider that which

feeds is not always

from a cornucopia.

Inherently I think some-

thing dead nearby;

inherently I feel my 

eyes narrow to see.

I know what feeds 

does not always appeal

to me and for an instant

I see me circling.

-Byron Hoot

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/