markers

i was half raven
   the city long since dead
  gray as the silent sky
 streaked with granite

i held the air with
   long black feathers
  in cobblestone canyons
 carved from history

i felt the old walls
   brush my wingtips
  high above narrow lanes
 stretched empty below

then the buildings gave way
   and i soared free
  through an open square
 orange with age

in the distant center
   tall as the canyon
  towers there grew
 an old black oak

its crown was full
   contrast to the lifeless
  city frozen forever
 to a moment in time

it grew from a circle
   closed in limestone walls
  where long sere blades of grass
 rose perfectly still

its scaly roots
   swam beneath the ground
  like coiled serpents
 half risen for air

and there i landed
   near its broad round base
  and rustled black feathers
 neatly behind me

high in the crown
   on a long thick branch
  a large raven worked
 at something unseen

its obsidian beak
   puzzled probed and cocked
  ’til i found myself lifting
 to see what it saw

and as i rose up
   it studied my approach
  then tossed its small find
 from the edge

it settled deep
   parting long thin blades
  as i drifted back
 to the ground

and about me there gathered
   creatures of every kind
  as i knelt as in prayer
 near the trunk

all kinds of creatures
   from all kinds of spirits
  half-mooned around me
 to see

one stood behind me
   covered with stern brown eyes
  which gazed down upon me
 and in all directions

its skin was the bark
   of all the old black oaks
  returned to the dreams
 of the earth

and i held in my hands
   like a soft feathered stone
  the black figurine
 of a raven

whose breast split in two
   its soft downy breast
  where a glimmer of light
 shone within