RAVEN AT THE FINE ARTS MUSEUM, CARACAS, VENEZUELA

Raven is watching
the photographs, waiting for
the crocodiles to
leave their two-dimensional
circumstance, and play with him.

Raven sees his face
in the glass—of jeep trails in
la Gran Sabana;
his is the delirium
presupposing creation

of the earth itself:
in the mountainous darkness
he navegates back
in time to starless, moonless
nights, even days without sun.

How did he miss this
sacred place on the planet
when he scattered stars?
A flat mountain top calls him
to enter the foggy shot

the photographer
has carved from primeval mud.
He tries touching down
on the grass, but the glass stops
his feet in their tracks, and makes

Raven feel anger
ruffling his feathers like wind.
In the mirror of
time well past and time present,
he shivers like the future.