https://youtu.be/nwAz0YzPwT4

Enjoy this reading of the poem The Lark, the Raven, and the Owl by Michael Williams. This poem first appeared in Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home, released in 1987.

Buy Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home: https://amzn.to/39TClwb

The Lark, the Raven, and the Owl

The light in the eastern skiesIs still and always morning,It alters the renewing airInto belief and yearning.

And larks rise up like angels,Like angels larks ascendFrom sunlit grass as bright as gemsInto the cradling wind.

The plain light in the eastContrives out of the darkThe machinery of day,The diminished song of the lark.

But ravens ride the nightAnd the darkness west,The wingbeat of their heartsLarge in a buried nest.Through night the seasons ride into the dark,The years surrender in the changing lights,The breath turns vacant on the dusk or dawnBetween the abstract days and nights.For there is always corpselight in the fieldsAnd corposants above the slaughterhouse,And at deep noon the shadowy vallenwoodsAre bright at the topmost boughs.