raven
His charred croak hangs behind
The lazy flight as he searches.
Now counties peel, hill, field
And ditch are a map of preys.
The cold air curls his flights
Plucks the tucked talons.
He has disgusting habits,
Bolts sheeps' eyes, scavenges
But this beating search
For his mate, that throated
Call a radar on the wind,
Has larger meaning:
Now he seeks Elijah again
For bruising winds of prophecy
Or sweating Roman columns
Their carrion fields left behind.
That cloud-caught catch floats
A vision of wings, air and silence
Down to these soil-slogged shires.
Page(s) 88
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