by Peter Gallaher
“Ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning.”
Black bird whose feathers fracture light
Black mystery in guided flight
Dark dart hurled at day
Where is fear or hope? Where are they?
Sharp beak, sharp tongue, sharp claw clutch and cut.
Bright eye dims fire in the sky, and heart
Chills beneath the sure descent
Of black winged hammer heaven sent.
Oh, Will of Love creating everything;
Oh, Blood of worlds whom angels sing;
I am so small, so naked, so full of dread
I die unless I eat your flesh, your bread.
