Wishing on a Raven

(3.23.12)

Two Ravens

Blacker than pitch night and lighter than thin air

Hang on to the edge of the world

Daring the coldest north wind to blow them from it

With their dagger -toed crow feet grasping the clouds

They tilt an obsidian feathered finger -- just enough to make time stand still

They croak and tumble in the violent uplift like acrobats—

Coaxing gravity to pull them down to the reality that mires me to rock, soil and earth

Playing on wings borrowed from a buteo and emboldened by a fearlessness foiled from falcons

They dance between the ethereal of ancient myth and the necessity of persistent legends

Tricking the zephyrs to take them where they want to be

Absent demands beyond the momentary sliver of space they claim
Between here and now and there and gone

I watch, and worship their bold black being

Envying their freedom without fear

and joy taken without regret