KAWEAH

They have lived here,
come evenings to listen
to our cocktail conversations
from the water trough and well—
distant silhouettes leaning
like lovers on the pipe rail,
totems we have mistaken
for ravens for years, until
their closer inspection:

lifting off at near dark,
he in the lead, feathers
shining blacker than night,
and she, grayer, trailing
for a closer look
at the two of us
watching this gesture
and wondering.

They are in love
atop the skeleton
of the once Live Oak
growing out of the knoll
when women came
for healing—upon
the highest branch,
she preens his back
                with her beak,
nuzzles his shiny breast
                with her head
as he crows—moans
                Caw-wee-ahh.

March 18, 2012