ravens

Poem – Heartbeat

In the depths of winter,

when I stand as one of the white birch

when the ravens come to rest atop

silent pines and the fields calm

I finally know I am alive when I hear my heartbeat.

Poem – The Fragments We Keep

Eyes open to the blackened sky.

I find myself on scattered rocks.

Cold waves wash over me as I struggle to remember.

Ravens call across the bay.

In the distance a portal opens and for the first time in years I feel hope.

Ravens now carry the fragments I desire to keep.

Poem – Preparing

I watch the sun fall into the earth
and the forest retreat into the shadows.

I watch ravens make one last flight this day
and the fields consume the rising moon.

I try to take hold of today
and let go of tomorrow.

But I know changes are near
and that we are not alone.

Poem – Perhaps the Ravens Were the Dream

Awakened by raven screams
from the top of trees above
the rocky shoreline,
I briefly let go of the
dream I was lost within.

I wait. Hoping for its’ return.

Perhaps the ravens were the dream.

When the integration process started
there were no words exchanged,
no way to communicate until
we discovered the universal
language of dreams and music.

Perhaps the ravens were the dream.

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Poem – Watching

The sleepy sun is just raising
one eye when we walk onto
the patio, one dog on each
arm, into the cold morning
with a thin layer of frost on
the ground and the apple tree.

Across the pond an oak tree
has emerged from its slumber
with a growing veil concealing
the noisy ravens watching every move.

Poem – Dogs of Winter

Afternoon sun sets quickly
as the wind scatters snow
and ice through the forest.

Summer ponds holding ducks
assume a new role and face
as the moon consumes the surface.

The main path follows the
base of the hill winding
past wetlands.

Ravens assume positions
in trees surrounding the
open field.

The dogs of winter
follow their own path,
darting into the forest

after smells and sounds
that are new, that are carried
in by the cold wind.

The sky darkens quickly,
becoming an orange backdrop
as the dogs of winter return

briefly to primal instincts
running with raw speed
across the hill-top.