The Dice Changer

Raven steals your name for an autumn joke:

buries it along with you under the broadest hemlock

known to squirrel or chipmunk.

He croaks it’s too bad you were awake for the event.

He accuses you of boring him

with the same old questions over and over.

You attempt revolt to prove his rattle

is cracked and as brittle as his song.

Raven clacks his beak like a trap and hollers

your face is a mask splitting down the middle

and madness has found a home.

All stink and fur dung, the black master

quips you had a chance to flee

but forgot where and what direction.

Now he blurts your pain must jump in the river,

the river thrash like the wind,

the mountain awaken you to the currents of the sea.

Raven hops away and chuckles as the dark chatters,

flips you over to your earth shadow.

Source: Drawings of the Song Animals: New and Collected Poems (1991)