Crows over California

For home

In the obsolescence of time

warped wings caress western skies that

stir over burning fields of strawberries

Crucified atop conquered sod that

awaits sacrifice to a pale god who

ships cardboard boxes to stucco homes

With Love

(What my homie said)

I sent a call deep into concrete desert, despairing

The voice on the other end spoke in an apathetic drawl

I asked if it can still see hope through smothered skies

If in the evenings it can still see the palm trees

dance through a sea of violets

It told me people still get killed at night

that it heard the gunshots in the courtyard

then the cries of the mother turn to silent winds

I asked if in times of tragedy it

weeps in the arms of a scorching sun, if it

kneels below overpasses as the

echoes of its cries

carry it to a righteous peace

It told me it isn’t very religious

though like Jesus it

still takes the time to watch the birds sing love songs