Crow territory

For several mornings now, black crows

have out-shouted magpies and swifts.

Their brief electric squawks jump gaps

in the infrastructure – like us stepping over

old access points for cabling and pipes,

boiled concrete obtrusions down our street.

We don’t know much more about fields

where acres of late-season sweetcorn dry,

but the bus drops us here, beside blocks

with tiled roofs and wooden attic windows.

The gateway opens out onto walks 

that lead, with some guidance, to a palace.

Trees have been brought here like us:

transplanted into an arboretum.