the day after the day after

walking home from the cafe
almost noon but the sky no brighter 
the day after the day after 
christmas is ash cold. 
i just stole a picture, 
a flower i was surprised to find, 
a flower emerging from 
cracked concrete stairs, 
as if the effort to blossom 
through concrete had hardened 
its resolve to continue 
blossoming through- 
kneeling where it hovered 
above the lichen splotched steps, 
i look up at a crow 
perched on one of several 
diagonally crossing wires, '
pause to admire the symmetry, 
wonder if they appreciate such things,
and notice, suddenly, the rest of those 
dark pauses scattered indiscriminately among 
gnarled limbs, crossing wires, rooftop edges 
and realize that the peculiar feeling i just had 
was the sensation of being observed 
by a quiet aerial collective 
and then the entire murder 
lifts, in a few strong flaps, toward the soft low sky 
as if all the commas in a story you were reading 
abandoned the page together and all at once
as the mechanical gate of the oregon institute for 
clinical investigations slowly & quite dramatically 

opens 
and i laugh out loud.