Outerside

Into the outs, the crow says,
Over the rectangular stones
Who, piled up, make a building

I, subject, seen most when peered at
Caw, walnuts, flights
Above what's below
Relative to ravens

Breezes and the first chills
According to when:
This part of the year
A season, perhaps
Accorded far more
Than the monthly mayhap

Twist a smile back to the birds
Into the outs
Over the rectangular stones