[wpaudio url=”/audio/december12/Moody.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]
 
The crow is screaming
at an apparent Nothing

 
Fall air replete with skeletal trees,
incalculable blue

 
Autumn means never having to apologize for that
which is no longer here

 
The crow didn’t get the memo,
persists in his relentless conjurings