In the painting the man
with the backpack is walking
his dachshund slowly up the hill.
Vivid Mexican colors flourish in the sky,
the park benches, the trees. The man counts
the crows he passes as they turn–one by one,
The medicines of a thousand breezes
swirl in their assigned duties.
The long lost cities of the Amazon
wait outside the frame of the painting
for the chrysanthemum crows to fly over.