A tale I wrote
Thanks for coming, ravens.
I know it hasn't been easy,
what with the sky being made
from death and rescheduling.
Someone told me you don't
feel like a raven anymore.
They said you look at your feathers
and see concrete and exhaustion.
They said you think your eyes
have forgotten what to look for,
where beauty comes from,
how to float in your hobbies.
The other day they said they
caught you tracing the shape
of a word in the sand with a claw
you called blunt. They said you
rubbed it out and walked away.
So thanks for coming, ravens.
I know it hasn't been easy,
but I'm excited to watch
our muscles remember they are
alive, that blood exists for us,
that beaks and knees and chests
are capable of outgrowing sky.
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