THE ANIMALS

Corvidophilia
(The Love of Ravens)

Gray rain whips the world with wind
The mountains are white, awash in mist
Above the sound of the howling storm -
The moaning of the pines, the wailing of the weather -
The ravens can still be heard calling
From treetop, to treetop; barren and clear
The sound of hollow wet bone

Do you wake up drinking darkness,
That your eye should be so black, so black
Ebony, pitch, shining like sharply cut jet
Polished to an acid edge with purpose
What do you see? What knowledge do you keep
In the darkness of that black, black eye?

They say you are a trickster, but it is wisdom
I feel behind the dipped ink of your gaze
Insight, creation, what all I will never know
For you hood yourself with a slow blink
Mystery bird the shade of nightwind
Lady of secrets, enigma on wings
You will not be known

They will find your feathers
In places you have never been
Could these be amulets, charms, sliced from the midnight sky?
Cut out with the sharpest, burning, knifewhite stars
Dusted with a silent mist of moon?
Wherever they have come from
They tumble to earth in the simple shape and seeming of
Raven feathers
But they carry this strong corvidae blessing:
Shadow wings stretch as a shield above you
Sharp, onyx eyes watch as a ward over you
Constant
Unblinking
Blessed Be

And You . . .
Nature’s wanton riddle wrapped in ebony
You still sail the treetops
As black as the memory of every darkness
Missing a tail feather here and there . . .
With a cry that sounds like it will tear your throat
You alight on a branch too slender

As it breaks beneath you . . .
Your secrets splash against the sky

Black eyes blaze brilliant with
Laughter . . .
As the wild wind catches your widespread
Wings . . .


©Edwina Peterson Cross