I was a little worried as I sat at the computer today. What would I write? Was I already running out of ideas? Then I remembered fishing the Taylor River in Colorado when a raven joined me for a while. Now you folks out west probably don’t take much notice of ravens. But back here in Pennsylvania they’re not all that common. I’ve always loved ravens, and I just get a thrill out of seeing them.
Poem #8: Fishing with Raven on The Taylor River
Like a black rustling of leaves
or sudden darkness from passing clouds
a raven settles on the shore
just a rod’s length away.
Together, we watch the bright
tails of mysis eaters
as they flick and wave.
I know my business here, but
what errand brings the raven?
“Who are you?”, I ask.
The bird turns his head and looks
with one bright, black, inscrutable
eye. “Who are you?” he responds.
Shifting from foot to foot he
turns his gaze back to the river.
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