sceadugenga

©2021 Michael Raven

is it madness to
merge with the wind,
to howl with the moon?
to cry alive the sky?

are threads woven
a flawed cloth song,
do these wefts break warp?
that thread spun
since time was born?

all you judges, beware:
for each stare
may draw stones cast
slow slung and drunken
back to the fist
from which they were borne
for blood washes blood
and clever cuts thrust
are cain-marked
blades in exchange