Lean your bicycle against the grey rocks.
Sit in a patch of scrubby grass
nurse your knees—tired after this long ride
note mushroom and log
lying as if tossed by a careless hand
in a vague attempt to liven
these flat acres.  

Suddenly a raven leaps from the sky
croaks out his hag song
glides down to land
on bike bars.  

Dull afternoon sky opens
with a boom heralding rain
but before the first drop
clouds alight on your shoulders
like warm damp hands
and show you a twilight sky ajar
lightly peppered with stars
and revealing the rolling depths
of space—
a blackness littered with planet
and meteor and moon
as if some indolent hand
scattered clods of matter
and having sown his crude atoms
left for other fields
in need of tending.    

~inspired by Tobias Aboleda’s “Society for Invisible Boys”