Death marks silence in the all

Ridges of feathers
collecting the zephyrs
dispersing the swell of air
raising the raven
in sweet undulations
whilst bearing the mark of the wear

Whistling winds
thinned his ebony coat
as he flits through
his patchwork empire
scouring the nether
for a scrap of leather
to soothe the pang
of famine

Upon a totem,
he wilts into idle
carving a line of sight
between the grasses
veiling time in distractions
lingering
gripping patience
with an essence of lull

He is discipline
He is perception

Dormant
until a moment of motion
A shift in the glade
wings splayed
he releases from loll
to descend in a whisk
to scuffle with the players
whose quips are akin in tenor
The fuss of the feed
making wine from the bleed
Death marks silence in the all
as the ravens romance their entrails haul