Raven left this shadow.

Another prank.
Maybe even an omen.
It's hard to tell

why the fence looks ... scorched,
as if some great explosion

caught Raven, changing,
still shifting shape, somewhere
between man and bird,

etched this riddle into
the grain and knots of life,

captured in wood,
slats and slots of memory,
gathering ashes,

holding on to what finds it,
full of slivers of something—

something that tears the flesh.