Kingdom of the Raven
The black bird rests in the air
gliding over wasteland parking lot.
His wings flap once, twice
he opens his mouth to cry out
in the cold frigid air.
Glossy dark feathers shimmer
in the white sunlight of winter.
His looming shadow passes swiftly over ground
a contrast to sparkling iridescent snow.
Landing atop a lamp post
haughtily surveying the scene:
His kingdom is littered with remnants of human lunch
and cluttered by boxy cars;
the domain of the raven.
Unblinking eyes stare out into the woods.
His realm safe
he takes wing again, aloft in air.
The regal shape of bird flies off
in crisp sky.
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