Crows (II)

The crows tell me the body is there.
It is hidden by the lower brush and grasses, but
I know.

There is a carcass there. I can tell
that some unseen thing has sent the crows protesting
to upper branches.
I believe

their indignancy, as they dive
and swoop, creating a racket
they intend as menacing and fierce.

How dare the intruder take
what is rightfully theirs - -
this body
still warm, recently abandoned

by what was there,
what once was hidden but now is gone.
But the crows, they know.