Are we

extinct yet. Who owns
the map. May I
look. Where is my
claim. Is my history

verifiable. Have I
included the memory
of the animals. The animals’
memories. Are they

still here. Are we

alone. Look
the filaments
appear. Of memories. Whose? What was
land

like. Did it move
through us. Something says nonstop
are you here
are your ancestors

real do you have a
body do you have
yr self in
mind can you see yr

hands – have you broken it
the thread – try to feel the
pull of the other
end – make sure

both ends are
alive when u pull to
try to re-enter
here. A raven

has arrived while I
am taking all this
down. In-
corporate me it

squawks. It hops
closer along the low stone
wall. Do you remember
despair its coming

closer says. I look

at him. Do not
hurry I say but
he’s tapping the stone
all over with his

beak. His coat is
sun. He looks
carefully at me bc
I’m so still &

eager. He sees my

loneliness. Cicadas
begin. Is this a real
encounter I ask. Of the old
kind. When there were

ravens. No
says the light. You
are barely here. The
raven left a

long time ago. It
is travelling its thread its
skyroad forever now, it knows
the current through the

cicadas, which you cannot hear
but which
close over u now. But is it not
here I ask looking up

through my stanzas.
Did it not reach me
as it came in. Did
it not enter here

at stanza eight – & where

does it go now
when it goes away
again, when I tell you the raven is golden,
when I tell you it lifted &

went, & it went.