| ~Native Astrology: The Raven~ I sing to you My goodbyography And flatten myself across your knee. I rent a room And stare at the strangers Who have slept in my room And tried to pull me on like a sweater. I smell the snow On the tip of Mother's tongue. I become the raven, Knife into the canyon. Ravens touch nothing for luck But the sky; Only we know where we're going, Like an ember knows when to burn out. |