idea for a poem

crow, at st. theresa's track, saturday afternoon

here, grass burning without smoke, oval lungs,
and filters of humid air descending into town.

on three sides - homes, music, bottles, and smoke
of another kind, nostrils reeling...

so that is the beginning, not bad for a monday morning: but where does the crow come in... hmmmm, yes appropriate question. perhaps you'll see this poem build, mould itself, or perhaps it will end up in the landfill of recycled ideas... with the seagulls... au revoir mes amis!