Raven
The raven’s dense music
rings
like stones
when it falls
as quorks
and gurwallups
that leave widening ripples
in the blue sky sea
and mark with cairns
the path you have chosen
as if to show you, love,
that the way out starts
at the way in
and asks you to stop
looking
for what always comes
next
as the stone
you hold now
grows warm
in your hand.
For reasons you know, I adore this poem. Thanks for writing so powerfully about a being and a subject so close to my heart.
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thanks for this, Liz xoxo
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