The beginning of the wind found the surface of the bay
Touched it, touched my face. At the end of the day
Sharing the shore with two crows and an old hound mix.
I knew that dog, white and tan, a grinning dog.
All spring and into summer, she walked down the road
carrying her growing litter of pups.
She’d stop under our steps in the shaded, cool sand
roll and snort and kick, take an hour’s sleep
and then turn down the road and walk her way
back to the village.
The crows feathers shone like oil, like ink.
They hopped a bit then flew to the roof
to study the local opportunities.