BURY THE WIND

raven in the room

giving shape to the east

is the eye that sees

a breath circling through liminal bodies

as bone stirs Self into stew

so something new can emerge

be imagined

made utterly whole

and danced back to life

again

the secret is:

to bury wind so deep

into sunrise

into the canvas of the sky

that only blue-black feathers

know it’s there