A city boy, I was used to potholes
filled with rainwater. But this was Durham

New Hampshire. A single crow
splashed like a kid in a plastic

pool. He went under, came up,
spreading his sparkling wings. I stood

stupefied like someone watching
Christ go by on a donkey. In the middle

of Mill Road, a deer’s half-
devoured face gaped. I cleared

my throat. Wind shuddered birches
and maples. Crow gave me a look,

pushed up his razor beak—lifting
again into the cloud-clogged sky.