Raven

crow (3)

The raven at the table

Sees me yet

Sees not I

Glint eye in coal

The hard surface

Yellow dot in black sea

The visitor is only to me

Flight of fancy

Alien mind

It sees not terror

In claw and beak

It sees not terror

In death.

Its survival is within

And without

My line of sight.

The raven at the table

Raises it wings

Takes the sky

Into its feathers.

At the table

A tremor of light

Pulses and flashes

The air splits into infinity.

This is the terror it does not see.

I look for the raven

It is gone

It saw not me.

Warwick McFadyen

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