Raven on Agave chrysantha — Image by kenne
High Above the City
Black wings folded tight,
the raven waits on golden spires—
agave in bloom.
Far below, the streets
hum with heat and human drift—
unseen, unheard here.
Perched in thin silence,
it watches the city fade
into mountain light.
One call cracks the sky—
then nothing but the wind’s hand
on old stone and flame.
Thank you so much, Kenne, for the beautiful poem and the raven who inspired it!
Joanna
Joanna, You are welcome.