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