4

Sunlight parches us
in beauty without mercy;
rain drifts – a mirage 

Corvid

It craked.  Hoarse and raw.
Footloose, on the wing, it looked down at us.
Perched in the roof-line gutter, craking on… 

The bird of fortune, named by accident,
rescued by goodwill, nurtured in our den,
drawing down our blackened greed, shimmering… 

“You gaaave me what I asked for;
I can see how much is there –
now I want more! More!! Mohre!!! Mohhre!!!!” 

3

How much has fallen?
How much more still stands, intact?
Does the act forget?

2

Would you not conform
in riches and belonging?
Or have otherness…

1

Trees grow among rocks
Granite boulders overhang
Lichen covers all