the crows were crowding under the tree

not riding wind waves waffling branches

not jabbing groundhogs nor hazing blue jays

just pecking the earth, knock, knock

asking forgiveness to enter the fold

promising good behavior

offering to return shiny gems

to underground dragons’ grasps

seeking eternal sun and guiltless nights

of myths that feed dreams

for amelioration ablution absolution

to blanch their thieving livers long enough

to firework water sprites’ grottos

to fog machine air sylphs and quetzals

to bulldoze dwarves out of house and home

to piss salamanders’ tempers to wrinkled alligator skin

then sneak back up the wormholes

to chuckle the summer away at their cleverness

and the underworld’s hope

of crows changing their spots