S T O R I E S   I N   T H E   T I M E   O F   A   P A N D E M I C



C H R I S T O P H E R       R A L E Y



My words are birds,
and I am a stranger
to this darkness.

The floor rises and falls
as I climb to the window
and there release a dove.

I know she will return
with a picture of new life
or she will have found rest.

Not so the raven,
for when I released him
he neither found his rest

nor returned to my hand
but criss-crossed empty sky,
an angry black omen

carrying in his claws
the stolen redemption
of my fragile sight.




Photo header:© C:Raley




©Literati Magazine 1999-2020 All rights reserved.






©Literati Magazine 1999-2020. All rights reserved.


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