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.