Fog settles like an old brood mare
and a single Raven cuts the air
with its shriek.
Has it really only been a week
since you died,
or 10 lifetimes? I’ve cried
enough for the whole of this life.
The wind, the rain, the rattling leaves,
everything sings Wife;
everything grieves.
a poem by Red Hawk from the first issue of Deep Wild: Writing from the Backcountry.
