The albino crow
does not belong here.
They have already decided
it will be caught tomorrow.
They will say it draws attention,
that it cannot survive,
that something so visible
is better removed.
The other crows keep their distance.
They rise when it comes near,
black wings lifting away.
But tonight
it sits on the wire
bright against the evening,
and every eye goes to it.
It does not know it is wrong.
It only knows the air holds it.
it opens its wings,
taking in the evening.
It calls
and the sound carries
over the dimming fields.
And for this one hour,
before the quiet breaks,
it is enough
to be seen
just once.
