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Corvus Corax

Is it not a relief,
as the faithless years pass,
to wake with the dying
night? Dawn muted and brief

before the desert light
shakes shadows from spindled
limbs of thin trees who live
like starved saints. Venus bright,

infinite sun. Cacti
of Rainbow, Horse Crippler,
King-cup and Prickly Pear.
Bone-root of Pinon, dry

as smoke. Ravens gather
in a regal cluster.
Purple, Blue, Onyx
robes of oil-slicked feather,

Earth’s omniscient conclave.
Eyes deep as blackened jade,
tufted down ’round the throat,
still wings drift, wave upon wave –

 

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