As ritual replaces love,
ravens circle the field;
their black eyes survey
the ground’s cold wreckage.
Beneath fluttering wings
and caws, today’s blurred
light bathes my vision
with a new absolution.
Steam rises with the sun.
Morning dew mixed with blood
dampens all with a cold dead
sheen. The ravens land as one.
Turning my eye skyward,
I moan once, then lie still.
(October 3, 2014)
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