I watch a raven on the sidewalk, slippery, glistening, considering
it slows and stares, a slight tilt in its sleek head
wings tucked tight, intent on the space in front
and then, as a hooded priest, a thief in the night, a leper or outcast or any other black shrouded thing, it bows
it bows
and quarter turns
and it bows again
then a quarter turn
bow.
I must have been distracted then, because I didn’t finish watching, or race over to the place it had been attending
was it a bug? a dead thing? an energetic place? a memory of something ancient? Raven tai chi?
I go about my human day and consider as raven did,
to what or whom do I bow? what stops my day, revolves me in quarter turns, and do I pay my reverence? to what am I attending?
