Summer sun on the side of the slope
Frames the scene
Pleasant, soft, bucolic
The soft susurration of the grasses
Lulling a sense of security,albeit false, in the police who waited
As the divers dragged the depths of the dam
Depositing the decomposing dead on the dirt for detection

The coppers circled cawing like crows
If they’d been dressed in black, not blue
I may’ve likened them to ravens of myth and memory
Harbingers of wisdom and death

Picking over the ‘past person’ the police
Cease to circle
And call a car to carry the corpse away to the coroner

Moving to action the murder of crows cops scatters
A murder of their own to investigate
Is a murder what they investigate?
Or what they are?
They chase new leads
The different
The interesting
The *shiny*
Yup – they are crows
…or maybe ravens
Either way the difference is only the matter of a pinion
And they both want crime to be nevermore