It was you I spied,
lying motionless
in the hot desert sand-
the arid atmosphere
having baked and fossilized
an expression of grim drought
upon that tired, haggard face,
as blue tailed skink's ran
hither and thither
among the myriad cacti.
I saw your weary tears
evaporating into nothingness
and heard the hollow crackle
of dry eyed angst shift
upon the keening sands
of scorched landscape,
broken terra cotta,
and disappearing dreams...
Friend Raven
swooped in
with outstretched talons
and starkly lit
in full sunlight
upon these naked, observing shoulders
whispering healing messages
from the sacred world of dreams-
His shiny blue/ black head
cawing throaty, open beaked cries
into the scarlet sundown skies:
A forecast and promise
of a bountiful morrow:
"Here, upon your head,
you shall feel one breakthrough
quenching drop,
then another and another
and another...
I see thee awakened from thine
ancient sleep of grief...
These trickles
of life giving water
shall stream from the sky-
Drink.
Fill your weary, dry eyes..."
This must be your guide:
Perhaps, you will sense
a helping spirit
is nearby
whenever
the Raven cries.
"Talking Raven"
Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2002
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