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Letting the mystery flap through us...


Sleeping with the Ravens


All night they flapped through me

on blue-black wings. By morning

every hair on my head had gone white


and was risen. Like wayward roots

they burrowed into the firmament.


I woke with that old raw

hunger… ravenous.

Not for starlight but for what recedes—

the bottomless yearning


to walk with the ancient novitiates who carry white fire in their cupped dark hands.


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