Raven shifted on his perch

He lifted a foot

Placed it over the other, and quickly spun around

Then dropping his head

And lifting his ass

He shat


Watching it spiral down

Before splattering unseen amidst the bramble of the forest floor


He saw much from his perch

The fray of the forest floor

The hunters and the hunted

Out each and every day


He has noticed

Each day faces change

Trees change

Even his feathers change

But the world

Remains very still


He was grateful to be up here

The high open wind

Cleansing his face

And his mind


He likes the wind in his face

And thinks, it must have meaning…

And maybe messages


Vague whisperings

Fleeting and without substance


Some of the most meaningful things

Do not have substance

Take flying - wonderful – without substance


He soars

While watching the walkers


He thinks of himself

And has no false pretensions

He certainly has substance

But is without meaning


He is simply Raven on his high perch

In the wind

Nothing more, nothing less


Absorbing the heat and light

Then slowly

Fluttering away



He wonders who is waiting out there

For him

Or his perch

In this world


He dropped his head

Lifted his ass

And shat again


He shifted on his perch, and thought

Now that’s reality


He was alone

It seemed he had always been alone

Oh…he has visitors

But has no false pretensions

While engaging in idle banter

He is still alone


He rises each morning


By the beauty of the day

And the problems within


It is then he begins cackling

With himself

And launching himself

At the bramble of the forest floor


By the end of the day

He is empty

Of everything


Each morning it begins again

He lays and creates

Problems of the new day


All the while

Tearing down the solutions

Of yesterday


A non-ending process

Each day

Of tearing down and rebuilding


He has come to greatly enjoy

This comforting daily routine

He enjoys knowing he has the ability to solve great

Complex problems


He knows he has become older

But other than his feathers

And the things around him

Everything is the same


He thinks

When I came to this still world

I came with my trunk

Filled with feathers, faces, and feces

This is my stuff

For this world


Nothing more, nothing less


His stomach began to turn

And churn


He had visions of food and thought

He would go look

For leftovers

In the bramble

Of the forest floor


He spread his wings

And hopped off his perch

Allowing himself to drop towards the forest floor


Then two quick beats and he leveled off

And began to soar


His eyes searched

Until engulfed


By sound

Both white and black


He was aware of his feathers surrounding him as he fell



Just before landing amidst the bramble of the forest floor

He shat