This poem is taken from Stand 244, 22(4) December 2024 - February 2025.

Connie Wieneke Surely these ravens have come to dance with their shadows
come to magic the sun down / or so my imagination tells me / where would we be without
one more reminder / how clumsy we are at what-all eludes us / this, not that / hard not to
think our conceits no less friable than bird bones / how one shadow falls off the barn roof
dancefloor / its shadow needs a rest / three heartbeats and it rises in tandem with its self
from the manure-clotted field / dare I say that god nothing more than one raven on a hay-
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