Obsidian Caelum

The sea-glimmer of Raven’s feathers

 captures your gaze— waves

bending light keep churning

 across a pinnate cloak.


“I will help you, but if you falter,

 your eyes will become food.”


                  Odin gave an eye for knowledge

                                without a second thought…


A gamble, but irresistible. 


                 Faust figured so, too.




In absence of  mediation,

 we settle for a mediator.

Imminence— she’s shifty, 

 one needs a certain something

to contain her.


               A vessel of sorts. 


Ask a question first—

 Then, listen. 



The messages she sends

 digest your mind

into cross-wise thinking 

 of gale and tempest-storm;

into splintered

 polyphony of rot.


               Putrefacation is illumination. 

                         Why is that so difficult to grok?


Because Sun is warmth—

 we ache to merge,

forgetting our flesh burns.




Raven caught fire while stealing 

 a coffer of light—

similar to Psyche, 

 who snatched a box of beauty

from the mistress of the underworld—

 so we (clothed in darkness)

could catch fish and gather food.


            A roller who bet his dice

                       on the redemption of human-kindness


A little homage now and then wouldn't hurt...




Watch your eyes.