Five crows wheeled before rolling grey clouds
and spoke with wing and caw
This is the mouth of the thunderbird,
and his whistle that makes us to rise,
here we are falling and wheeling in fits,
and soon it will be time to hide.
My wife and I watch them from our seats on the porch.
I point out how clouds are turning like tornadoes
and she brings up the charge in the air.
We are close to science of how things work
and so far from the wings that we wear.
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