I The Ravens
What spirit flies in fall the raven’s
Over mesa and on the wind
High above the valley of long light
And shadow, in waves towing
With their wings the seams of night
Tugging the tight veins of winter.
Against the wind, in pairs twirl
Like lover’s in the deeper woods, and
Shadows on the stone make four
But only from the dying sun.
II Venus
What pale star rests above the kiva
In dusk the last light is Venus wearing
A crown of waning purple light I know
I know I sulk among the junipers, like
A slug beneath a stone a snake
Within his hole I know the night
To come, the cold stars not so naked.
III So is Darkness
So is darkness but the desert of
Light, and just as long as sad?
The endless journey between the
Wall of pines, the dark oceans of
The mind, climbing toward the
Edges of the summit and declaring
The emptiness of things, fluttering
Just two beneath the newly birthed
Moon.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
I The Ravens
What spirit flies in fall the raven’s
Over mesa and on the wind
High above the valley of long light
And shadow, in waves towing
With their wings the seams of night
Tugging the tight veins of winter.
Against the wind, in pairs twirl
Like lover’s in the deeper woods, and
Shadows on the stone make four
But only from the dying sun.
II Venus
What pale star rests above the kiva
In dusk the last light is Venus wearing
A crown of waning purple light I know
I know I sulk among the junipers, like
A slug beneath a stone a snake
Within his hole I know the night
To come, the cold stars not so naked.
III So is Darkness
So is darkness but the desert of
Light, and just as long as sad?
The endless journey between the
Wall of pines, the dark oceans of
The mind, climbing toward the
Edges of the summit and declaring
The emptiness of things, fluttering
Just two beneath the newly birthed
Moon.
