This week, I'm reading Noel Crook's collection Salt Moon, winner of the 2014 Crab Orchard Series in Poetry First Book Award. I'm haunted by her poem "Crows" that first appeared in Southeast Review.
What is it the crows know this first real day of fall
when the sky's gone vacuous and the air thins?
They bark on the lawn in their raucous code,
plumage blue-black smoke of a city