Nalini Paul

The Fourth Craw

Poem

‘wasnae there at a’

Too much is said about night – 
its fullness jug-heavy with distance
poured out into star-mapped flight.

But in the sky, protecting her addled head, 
was a strange sense of grounding – 
as if light were solid, for standing.

And from these things – 
sparks in the high darkness
a smouldering moon – 
came music, the raven’s song.

Its sound could wither the feathers of eagles
make fire from ice
play tricks with existence
changing form at a whim.

In the dim-lit great hall of glittering stories
the broken shine of the moon crackles.

Nalini Paul

from The Raven’s Song (2015)

Reprinted by permission of the author.