My Window: Los Alamos, New Mexico

 

​

Two ravens gravely do rolls as they sail
along through lupine and clover sky—
pairing behavior, I suppose,
or Thought and Memory spy on rainbowed
Raganarök town as the Well-Drinker meant—
and I, though solidly convinced
of the will’s play, still cast in muddier
water, pleased to trust inspirations
in time will miraculously snap
where whiskers bend and be cleaned in my boat.