Inspiration as a Crow

I sit upon my notebook like a hen
I watch for words to boil from my pen
But, really,
I wait for a tap, tap, tap
On the windowsill

She fell from her nest
When she was too young to be saved
But she taught herself to fly
By watching the leaves in Fall
And built her home from shiny things
Thrown out from the windowsill

Maybe she sees me
As a fallen thing too
Maybe that’s why she brings me,
Periodically,
Scattered shiny things
And leaves them on my windowsill…