Raven pivots on his tail axis
to flash a belly at the sky,
flips back, quick, to sun his spine,
opens wide
his unibrow of wings –
an inky joke with a corvid beak.
Wind finds readers on picnic blankets
to make books blow at noses,
waggles pages on hinges,
scatters pagination
onto subplots and sandwiches –
a protagonist laughing.
Pasture Grass bows to Wind
to conceal field mice,
shades tracks and traces,
then tosses her blonde hair
at raven’s grin –
a trick cloud behind her shoulder.
Such friends as these,
where everyone winks.
