Off his feet,
a crow takes off,
perhaps a little clumsily,
frowning with a scoff
at the static rocks at the sea-face.
Eccentric winds from the bay
lift his form with ease;
Black, strong, and sly,
in the sunny winter sea breeze,
sending him off on an elliptical trace.
A lazy wave
tumbles in, breaks and ebbs,
The wind leaves white messages
in curious cirrus-cloud webs...
Who reads them this winter afternoon?
The ponderous Gulmohur
has caught yet another plastic kite;
Yet another leaf twirls down,
Down an invisible helix in flight
to meet his comrades soon.
An obese bumblebee
weighs down a proud marigold deposed...
And the crow eventually returns,
his claws carefully, tightly closed,
holding onto nothing from a pointless trip.
The static rocks welcome him back.
The sea gapes in dull silence.
On this lazy afternoon that's been so slack,
he clambers on the rocks and gets a grip.
