murder of crows

on the wind
with a murder of crows,
time stops for a drink.

where relics float,
quiver reflections–
what might have been,
who should still be.

as water – cool, and clear
passes over tongues parched
from empty breezes,
along mortal wreckage,
hot, dusty, never-ending.

a smile returns in memory
and thirst induces desire
for flight, autumn bouquets,
and the touch of meaning.

on the wind
with a murder of crows,
time stops for a drink.

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