I am the one who knows
of the craft that strung bones together
before there were sinews

and animated matter before the first breath.
Before the primordial darkness 
there was a crow. 

Don’t believe me? 
Ask the Old Mother –
she didn’t believe her eyes

but there I was and from me she learnt
the art of stirring her cauldron birthing the stars.
Still don’t believe me? Know this –

I can bring back the bones of forgotten monsters,
reassemble them to look like angels,
retrieve the words of lost books,

repair your dying world.
Still don’t believe me? Cah! 
Fill your mouth with my feathers,

spit them out and read my oracle.
Then you’ll see how in the darkness between worlds,
in the depths of all the pollution your kind have siphoned off,

at the end of all ends flies a crow and I am love.
Still don’t believe me? Cah! Cah!
You’re not the first.