All crows look the same
Or so we like to think
And Croci likes us to think this too

All crows sound the same
Or so we like to think
And Croci likes us to think this too

Other birds, with colours and crests and calls
Like the nightingale, that would move us to tears
And have us revel in their singularity, make us look
And listen in awe and covert them
Bid us pay them heed

But Croci watches us

Walk past a crow
on a chimney or in a tree
And they pay no heed
Or so it seems
But turn and look
Pay heed
And the seeming sightless beast
Takes flight

So Croci watches us

Through unseen eyes
Black on black
Beedy and beeding me
The unseen seeing all, unseen
That we see all the same
The one bird in the many
Thus the seeming sightless single beast
Is able to move unseen
En masse
In our world of personal sovereignty
Safe, at least for now,
As a singular multitude
Oxymoronic, axiomatic
A flock on automatic
A hive mind
Evading and
Outwitting us
Seen but unseen
Croci hidden
All
In plain sight but
All
Above our heads