DREAM OF THE RAVEN

When the ten-speed, lightweight bicycle broke down

off the highway lined thick with orange trees, I noticed

a giant raven’s head protruding from the waxy leaves.

The bird was stuck somehow, mangled in the branches,

crying out. Wide-eyed, I held the bird’s face close to mine.

Beak to nose. Dark brown iris to dark brown iris. Feather

to feather. This was not the Chihuahuan raven or the fan-

tailed raven or the common raven. Nothing was common

about the way we stared at one another while a stranger

untangled the bird’s claws from the tree’s limbs and he, finally

free, became a naked child swinging in the wind.