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The Raven Has Fled- Part One
The ribbon is cut The die is cast The cement is dry Yet nothing lasts The brazen rewarded The hero a fool All reason outdated New fury the tool A journey presented Your ship to go far With doldrums eclipsed By the light of new stars The lands will seem foreign The people most strange But they’ll smile as you pass And call you by name You run and you run And you run from it all With no map to guide you The albatross calls And then sweet intention Returns from respite Rephrasing the unmentioned Where maybe you might In fear of the tonic All healing disdained Right, left-side disjointed The cork from the drain The covers pull back Your bones are now bare The tiller is slack And there’s nobody there So you take to the helm Hands firmly in place And you care not a whit If it’s all empty space As a raven is perched On the yardarm so high A land bird that lurches Cawing all truth a lie And you wonder then maybe Have you wandered too far As you ladle the future From a long empty jar The wind starts to move A gift from the moon What’s whole has been halved And the sun almost noon The rigging is creaking The mast ever tall The wind has died down With no new ports of call The feeling still burns In the fire within To find that one thing That unfound—to you sings The ocean is flat The seas become calm The seasons repeat From reflection embalmed The night sky is clearest The darkest the days The winds have escaped you Adrift you now stay But then just a wisp Of a breeze on your cheek Portends of a magic And the vision you seek It strengthens and gushes Throughout all the night As the red sky last evening Had hinted it might As the headsails go up The big linen comes down And you climb up the mast Stepping over a frown The creak of the lapstrake Splashes over the bow The present’s in sight Incarnate right now You look down on a lifetime In this moment of joy As the smell of the brine Covers anything coy And an Island approaches From the mist up ahead As the stillness reproaches And retreats to its bed The wonder returns All speculation begins Of the magic you’ll find In this newness again At the top of a mountain Strange trees then appear In a shape that’s uncertain Neither familiar nor clear (continued in part two)
Copyright © 2025 Kurt Philip Behm. All Rights Reserved

Book: Reflection on the Important Things