Wind out of Oklahoma this morning

smelled like blood and smoke

And the crows discussed their future 

in the branches of their Louisiana live oak

The limbs are strong and heavy

and its leaves are all aglow

And the branches brush the upper air

But the roots reach down to where the bad people go

And will I do with you, pink and blue

True gold, nine days old 



Nice new clothes on you 

and an old cardboard produce box for a cradle

I mashed some bananas in a coffee cup

and I fed you there at the kitchen table

Crows outside complaining about the finer points of local politics

Strange wind all full of new smells

rust and fur and reception sticks

And what will I do with you, pink and blue

True gold, nine days old