Constellation of Kate

poem

Constellation of Kate

In numbers they’re called a murder of crows,
a conspiracy of ravens, 
a wake of buzzards.

For the poets in the room, I offer up my own formations:
A mercy of moonlight. 
A siren of muses.
A haunting of addictions.

I don’t know what to call 
a collective moral bankruptcy—
other than an evangelical.

I don’t know when we went from…