The swarm of crows that pecked at his eyes, his heart <br />his throat <br />were attracted there, like to like. <br />They gathered. <br />The crowd, the black storm. He caught and held each <br />one by one, breaking their necks with a wonderful snap. <br />Though each he killed spawned a thousand more - <br />each rumpled feather an inky embryo <br />that shook free and germinated <br />in its mothers blood <br />Myths weaved and reweaved <br />the population flourished <br />and Hughes, the great ecologist <br />had not enough time <br />to record them all.<br /><br />Thomas Rickarby<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hughes/
