Crows
The past catches up with us
once I watchedjust afterduska hugeflock of birdsfly massively froman old mildewed pier.deserted it was;the pier I mean.it had sat therein itsstinking mould for manyyears,friendless and alone.then the birds,crows I’m sure,(though they say crowsonly roost in trees)detached themselvesfrom the dark silhouetteand skimmed the sky.as one smallflockpassed overheada singlecrywas uttered.it pierced mybrainlikean ice-colddart,bringi...
