Ravens carry unbirthed roses
across sepulchers
through narrow spaces
without concern.
Embossed wings shimmer
in diminishing waves
as the sun goes down,
returning to vacant
spaces beyond the sea.
The world wraps
arms around black
birds, glowering
at their indifference.
The strength of straight
flying aerial splotches—
never in a hurry to compete
with the deteriorating skies.
Their patience is
enduring as they
find their paths,
flying, flapping,
winging against the
currents, dropping rose
petals, unsure if when
they finally land—
there will be any petals left.





