Raven reels in raucous black for the sundown sky
before I dream my crippled dog is somehow young,
can run, that love poured out in sand grows palms
and fish, that slickened cogs grating off the true
can still be grasped and purpose given back.
I sleepwalk down to the druid's obsidian wood. An
earth-glass pool's a window for that other wind
of pomegranate and pine ruffling yellowed lace;
by a twist of shattered light it reflects a smile
I knew in another time another place.
pulling a wire on which we both are hung,
glass beads that slide together whole and touch.
The ring of our collision in midair
is unmakeable by one but not for both.
posted for real toads
(which I have failed miserably--this being a little over twice her required word count--sorry)
Image: Big Raven, 1931 by Emily Carr, pubic domain, manipulated