Dancing on the roof at dawn
woke the house.
We were used to the hop hopping, and scrapping
scraping and scratching
of moss in the early hours.
Thunderous landings
and flappings of black wings,
reconnaissance for bugs or what everlived on the roof.
This was different,
this furious syncopation.
The announcement the evening before.
An invitation stick down the chimney,
to the crows' wedding,
the first of March.