and ravens everywhere.
Each glimpse of wing a cue —
there is work to complete:
pacts to bind and wind
to read. Ciphered tongues
turning in the sun-drop
to stitch-pick and mimic.
Fields on fire. Stalk into
smoke. Layered veils of it.
What’s left of the crop
going under into ash.
Wash a bulb of volcanic glass
in the lake and pray.
Gulping black stones, the ravens
call the coyotes to the carcass.
Ask them to open it, then descend.
Only tricks here are those
played by the light.
