Crows are black.
They carry away the souls of all who lie in the cemeteries.
They have split personalities — souls battle inside — and their insomniac eyes are half closed.
Sometimes they hit one of the cyprus trees that grow up from the cemeteries.
Their black bodies fall onto the state highways that the American, Marshall, built around.
Death by a cemetery — “there’s nothing sadder than that,” says the traffic cop.