RAV

by Frederik Lloyd

The darkness had a crack
and out of it came Rav, the first born.
No one knew why
no one had called him.
In that sense he was alone.

He came out as if scored from a sheet of dark glass.
He never flew, he flapped.
For a long time he searched for others.
Others who enjoyed the dark.

He dreamed as he flapped
of those with red rimmed eyes
with velcro wings,
beaks of dull and dented gold
and tongues of pale blue glue.
He chased raggedly behind burnt meteors
and sang to them.
His voice, a washed out funnel of yellow light,
fading fast in front of him.

When a hairline crack formed he fluttered in.
Easy as hiding in a curtain.
Cracks were what he knew best,
where he came from,
one thing he could do.