Enjoy this reading of the poem The Lark, the Raven, and the Owl by Michael Williams. This poem first appeared in Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home, released in 1987. Buy Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home: https://amzn.to/39TClwb
The Lark, the Raven, and the Owl
The light in the eastern skies
Is still and always morning,
It alters the renewing air
Into belief and yearning.
And larks rise up like angels,
Like angels larks ascend
From sunlit grass as bright as gems
Into the cradling wind.
The plain light in the east
Contrives out of the dark
The machinery of day,
The diminished song of the lark.
But ravens ride the night
And the darkness west,
The wingbeat of their hearts
Large in a buried nest.
Through night the seasons ride into the dark,
The years surrender in the changing lights,
The breath turns vacant on the dusk or dawn
Between the abstract days and nights.
For there is always corpselight in the fields
And corposants above the slaughterhouse,
And at deep noon the shadowy vallenwoods
Are bright at the topmost boughs.
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