by Edward Hirsch

These ravens gathering on the breach
in the battered blue light of dusk
are a sudden unkindness

The path heading up the house
strays off into a vague straggle
like a thought that has gone too far

That sliver peering through the clouds
looks like a bell that can no longer ring
in an abandoned church steeple

I don’t mind the mindless fog
but my room at the top of the stairs
tilts like a broken boat at sea

All night I feel the homesick waves
and I hear ravens scavenging in my sleep