I woke to the light of Magritte

half day and half night

silhouettes of crows in the trees

branches buoying them, rocking

they scatter

they laugh, they caw-caw

a nasal haha

haha

horizon slathered with orange and blue

streaks and the veins of dark trees

move with the thick Van Gogh lines

and light opens Rene's sky stripes

those round bodies curving 

crooked, crook-ed on arbor tips

harbors, habored

weighing and swaying

what are they saying

those limbs move like waves 

and those birds swoosh and bob

dodging the spray of March bluster

like early surfers at Crescent or Higgins

catching spring winds and wooshing

whirling

waiting for day to make its call

bouncing on the edges of a landscape

and holding fast to

vertiginous margins