As signposts.
Changing symbols of the disappearance
of fear, the truth of the field,
and everything crows
are invited to with open arms,
mysteries like the corn disappearing
and the fear returning.
As reminders.
Dangers noticed in hindsight,
uncloaked from an angle
when taking flight with a fullness
churned to sickness
by what could have been
and what is, death risked to live.
As humans in a field.
Things to be feared
only when near food unnaturally
abundant and symmetrical,
this abundance and symmetry
apparently rooted in death.
As debris.
Pieces from another place
that don’t follow the local laws,
waste pushed here from beyond
by wind, water, gravity,
lacking the ability
to fly from destruction.
As clothing on sticks.
Not trees or humans;
shapes that attract
to create fear, as the fields
hold humans that part crows
from feathers and the sky.
As children.
Replacements less than
their creators, who continue on
when they are gone
and guard the future, a place
in a world that gave birth to them
and everything that moves
against them.