After you have learned all their secrets
And think the way they do . . . they will
fly away and take you with them.
— Richard Brautigan
Crow Maiden
Crow ascends from the corner hedge
as if Southwind will lift him above
all creation, then, in his usual way, suspends
himself over my gap gate crossing the two-track
to summer pasture. He’s made a habit of hanging
around, watching me open this gate.
I consider Crow from my pickup,
windows down, radio full blast. He hovers
through the weather forecast and a seed corn
commercial, but, at the top of the hour,
with news of the casualty count, he turns
his back, his black robes caught by the wind,
and with a clamor of caws, sails over rimrock
to the bluestem below—where long ago,
he considered my bloody prairie incursion.
Where now, he will pretend I never walked.
— H.C. Palmer
HC Palmer is a physician who was born in Southeast Kansas and spent much of his time growing up in the Flint Hills which is his “anchor” place although he considers the Madison Valley in Montana and the Florida Keys as important places too. He lives in Lenexa where he writes poems in his old age.
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
I love it! I’ll never look at the crows in my back yard the same way again.
Beautiful and moving……