Raptor and Dove

At the end of the world
Dies a man in the cold –
Blood flows sluggish from his wounds

As from far above descends
The great black bird –
Fierce of eye and cruel of beak

With wings that stir Storm
And croaking voice that
Speaks of Mystery.

(At the end of the world
Scarlet on snow
Gaze all glassy

As last sight
Grows hard
And inward looking

Comes the question
From tongue most quick
And sly:)

“Your heart, oh man?
May I  have it
To gulp greedy?”

“My heart  is yours.”
Comes deathly gasp
“To grasp and crack my chest

To garnish with my eyes,
That knotted fist of meat
To forage in my flesh.”

“My thanks to you, despite your pall
Your pale face and death’s head grin
I’ll drink your last breath –  an dig right in.”

As life’s liquor pooled –
Flowed ne’ermore –
That which  arose – it knew no law.

(Stretched forth an arm
For  black bird’s roost
Talons biting deep

Shook its hoary head
Returned from life’s
Wet dream

Awakened now
By rime’s sharp kiss
And the thrusting off of sleep)

And what of love,
That word of man
The kisses of the Dove?

Enough we say!
Of that fierce fire
Only Wordless remains, after the pyre!

No shape to hold,
This roaring gest
This ancient way

Which knows no rest
And needs no sleep
No score to settle, no book to keep

Thus found in sacred and profane
In touch and breath
And not enchain-ed or Ideal

To lay with Heart and Will
(Both mightily beside)
Within the beds of gods enfleshed!

The tides shall move
As so they will
And we shall come again