Day-glo slow-mo. Mr. Crow was shiny.
Flying high in the sky like across
a sheet of aluminum.
His scratchy song echoed off heaven
like a locomotive doing somersaults
on a 20 square mile sheet of tin.
Every ocean he saw, he drank with his eye.
And with his other eye, he drank the sky.
He absorbed every color in the rainbow,
and turned himself inside out.
Crow was not trying to be dramatic.
It was just what he needed