Friday, January 30, 2009
one spring morning
A quiet sea of ravens. Bushel after bushel anchored on a green lawn. Rolling and bobbing, picking at fleas and spiders in the grass. Feathers undulately rock and ripple like wind on water. I drop my school books and run into the center. I am five years old again parting the black ocean. I am Moses. I provoke them into a storm of swirling madness. A swarm of black birds circling upwards as I sink down into a whirlpool of beating iridescent scales.