Imagine this: an arid countryside
In early spring, wild grasses
Still brown and dormant
From the autumn before,
Cumulus clouds, dark, heavy,
Make it seem like night,
Though your watch says otherwise.
There’s a lake reflecting the clouds,
Known for its rainbow trout,
Which attracts fishermen and birds,
And a BNSF train breaking westward
Toward Moses Lake and Seattle.
Imagine a raven soaring
Over the train, and with it:
The train, with its many orange cars,
The raven, ripping, racing, winning,
And reducing everything to backdrops
and props, objects bowed
By a single, scrappy black bird.