Right in the middle of church
 outdoors in the pine woods chapel
 the preacher gets stopped
 by a loud caw. The preacher
 pauses, smiles, and says,
“He was outside my house
 early this morning,” and we laugh.
 The crow caws again and grows
 more raucous. The crows always
 have the last word. They’ll be
 cawing here long after
 preacher and people have died and
 gone to dust and dirt.
 After church ends, as I
 sit and write this down
 three crows come close and watch me,
 hoping for food, impatient.