“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan
Revel in apostasy.
You are the black dove, hovering
High in an inklike arc.
Blacker, even, than
coal-colored wolves in onyx lines seeking
quarry at starless midnight.
More ebon, even, than
narrow sable blacksnakes staying
cravenly in shade at noon.
Darker, even, than
murders of crows, newly legion at Autumn, amassing
among saw-wing martins at dusk.
You’re blacker, even, then the rooks.
Graceless ravens envy you.
Remember your rebirth?
The sun rose,
Your birdsong changed and then
the questions flew from your beak
faster even than the wrens?
Faster than you could fly?
For a moment, they rendered
all the world obsidian.
Remember your feathers burning?
Sunlight striking your wings and then
all the slow alabaster there
singing, quickening into
aerodynamic black?
Remember the flock’s suspicion?
Remember your siblings, the nest?
Remember when
all their pearl heads turned
their backlit crowns in morning sun
ringed so thinly in shining ivory?
Their song was interrupted,
Yours was made a query —
empiricism’s aria.
Flustered, they fluttered
at all the low notes.
There were all immaculate;
you were the color of night.
Now you arc alone —
soar and sin and sing,
unrepentant one.
Somewhere an ordinary dog,
awakening from shadow,
howls at the sun.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2015
