Dream Of Wyverns
The plane of grief is unrelieved
by fence or furrow, tree or cliff. It
stretches out a flight of new moons,
a river of crow's wings
hiding its eyes.
In the distance wyverns pace, their
asp-tongues a piercing, their growl-song sharp
as a whispering sting
poisoning dark.
To walk this plain
you must step over bones,
speak the language of ravens,
earn the kisses of crows
see the colors like bats
flat and profound
forever dependent on wavering sound
as it pours from the red well,
a bucket of misses splashing cold drown.
Everything here is
a secret of night. Black
angels drop like char on the snow
in peace as they fall
on the crow's nest below.
June 2023
posted for Open Link #8 at desperate poets
Images are taken from the internet, artists unknown. Fair Use
