Crows in a Stubble Field

Along the tracks
in this field of straw,
tawny stubble
cut down by indifferent,
efficient hands,

I see sentient crows,
black shadows scrutinizing
lifeless stalks
like careful surveyors,
reclaiming this savaged world,

when, blaring, the train
shatters the air and scatters
the redeeming birds
into black angry clouds,
cawing into the twilight sky.