Coming in circle call I heard the raven dream.
Like soot and skin no window was, and all the world was flushed in dark.
Still currents flowed, and sounds did linger,
soft and biting and orifice singing. It had breath without lung,
guts without baggage. I had the thought to run but was without feet.

Twanging against a prism orb, this oubliette
of tiny thought would not bend or blend, like me.
Seeking recourse, I found no friends,
but feathers fell in utter abundance. In weaving fragments,
I but built my own dream, and toppled out into a grave.

A claw was there, and beating wings.
Dear raven stood there, long with me, as I sank into the earth;
the visions swept like lilies.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza 2014

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