Raven under the Volcano

Raven rose early;
like smoke from the volcanoes.
He was fluttering
his inky wings all morning,
landing with a coat of ash

on his feathers, and
a tender smile on his beak;
his eyes are glassy
and green from his dive bombing
cows in their grassy pastures.

On his way to bathe
in the waterfall, he shakes
his feathers free of
ash, set for his next attempt
to wash himself white again.

Above him, laughing,
Tungurahua spews his
black birds every
few minutes. He knows Raven’s
doomed to be black forever.

Baños de Agua Santa, Ecuador
October 26, 2003