The sun is late rising. The world of my daybreak walk
still penciled in—trees, roses, empty park benches—
all tentative. Even forsythia charcoal-sketched.
A crow descends, snatches a candy wrapper
from the trash bin. I flap my arms. He drops it, retreats
to a low branch, watches with lentil eyes as I tuck the red foil
into the basket. Ten steps later, I hear a caw, whirl
to see him in mid-air, black wings wide,
carrying away the only color in this hunch of morning.
Trickster or messenger? Does he believe that he can hoard
a rind of sun? Or was he sent to retrieve a missing
sliver, so dawn, rendered whole, could arrive?