when the ravens return

there will be joy
in our hearts;
we will understand
that in our diferences
we are complete

blackfeather in blue silt
sand and the slap of wings
bird words and new tattoos

blue river of octupus ink
tentacles beneath the skin
this world riddled
with psychic calligraphy

aramaic bird tracks
sketched in sand
the world dissapears
for a fearful moment
no freedom for the unbold
only those devotees
to the cult of beauty

love in the absence
of words between lovers
in oursolitude
we are complete

the world grows gentler
around her table
the goddess provides
for one and all as the forest
host both shadow and shade

this open world,
nature is the cure,
her name is wilderness
the music in your head
when your alone