Jeff Schiff

They are here
             where most disavow
                        or deride

their unctuous presence
            They are here
                        raucous blot on the dawn

high in rickety maples
             and Dutch elms
                        bearing magnificently

their own perturbation
             None coax them to dried corn
                        or clots of cured suet

None imagine their ruffs
             millinery fit for a queen
                        They are here

voodoo nuisance
             malice on the wing
                        their twig and twine asylums

sewn into the rotted cupolas
             of Saint Ignatius
                        their caw caw

and misfired lovingkindness
             threaded against our wills
                        into the chill morning air

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