Murder of Crows

We are all made of bloodclay  
at one with the earth  
warm with all directions  
wherever they may lead  
   
Molded by measures of love    
and the presence of hate  
baked by life and    
a cob oven sun  
   
My sand brown eyes  
with tearless vision  
watch them form    
circles of oblivion  
hovering above my head  
   
A halo of crows    
coloring a black witch sky  
waiting for me    
to trip and shatter  
   
But they misunderstand    
the air and the beat  
of the sun on their wings  
and I wonder if they  
realize I am not the prey  
   
And in some ways    
we are alike    
both meant to roam  
rummaging for signs and nests  
searching for food, for life    
   
Prompting me to be steadfast  
fearless in my Spanish stance  
armed with terracotta skin  
and wrapped in my hair's  
longest blackest cloak    
   
Withering life into the wind  
signaling the start to  
the quickest deathblow  
between the fate of my flesh    
and the hunger of a  
   
 Murder of Crows