At Safeway the raven eats sushi, pulling raw salmon
from rice wrapping: a glossy black, larger raven
than I have seen before. Corvus corax, come, raven,
large and common, native to these northern
lands. Prophesize, portend bad luck and ill omens.
Apollo sent you to the parking lot where, between
life and death, the shadow of winter lingers on.
Already, farther west, petals bloomed and fell in
piles to line the curbs. Might I claim you for my own?
I can tell your taste runs to the exotic, your yen
for fish a shopper dropped as good as carrion,
and you a spirit animal like the coyote. We run
apace, I in my illness, you to forage elsewhere, in
dumpster and alley for the ghost of my friend’s son.