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North American Dreaming: Raven's Tongue

Poet William Burkholder thinks of bleached bones at the foot of the raqven's tree.

Raven's Tongue
lashing out
on this shore far flung.

Cresting tides
finding me
in a storm tossed sea.

Deliver me oh saviour waves
to sand and hallowed rest.

That I should find sweet repose
as the raven's guest.

I have walked a sailor's path
I have stared with warrior's eye
along the distant plane
the raven's nest I spy.

On blackened wing and lignite heart,
he feasts upon my eyes
laying sand strewn witness
to the meal that I provide.

My tears for naught
for the battles fought
no meaning to them now.

Foddered out and used up
my sacrifice forgotten
bleached bones
seaside remnants
at the base of the raven's tree.


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