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