Apollo’s Raven King, or Commentary on a Kiss

Apollo’s Raven King, or Commentary on a Kiss

When you were very young, for the birthday of Queen Titania,
you danced before the court.
So pleasing to Apollo (in attendance on that day)
that he declared the gift to you of up to half his kingdom.
Your reply, in truth: not the head of John, but one word, “Ravens”.

Then, thereafter, you proceeded in your vocation,
ignored risk, defied fear and death in the creation of your art,
pursued truth until exhaustion, exercised immortal strength fueled by Apollo’s pleasure.
Angst that your expression might bear meaning past the mundane.
For truth’s sake, never let yourself be fed, preferring hunger to the full.
Now, fled to this location of intentioned isolation, to a lonely valley most remote,
pursued, rejected, hated, or much worse, misunderstood, ignored, betrayed, sold off.
You wept until you couldn’t, mind entirely unhinged.
You have no will to feed yourself, can’t accept it from another hand.

From your place there lying on the ground,
only strength enough to turn your head
to aim your wearied eyes up towards the sky to see
a gray-black cloud appear, approaching you unnaturally.
You knew they would, this massive, cawing constable of ravens
come to rescue you, a forsaken, dying prophetess.

The ravens, they discriminate, saving no one but those worthy souls,
predetermined by their enchanted council, or as directed by their god,
those in extremis, none other help forthcoming.
The mercy of the ravens: how they feed their young.
You’re dying, so don’t bite the hand, or, in this case, beak
that vomits in your mouth to save you.

First, the water that you lack, they carry to you in their beaks,
thimble-full by thimble-full, tiny swallows up until
they know from their experience and intrinsic wisdom,
now strong enough for food, though you barely move,
graduate from their regurgitant to solid.
They leave bits of bread and meat upon the crude stone plate you fashioned.

Near death myself, far off, alone and in retreat,
having fasted for enlightenment too long,
my mind unhinged, quite by mistake
now trapped: no water, food nor strength to venture forth.
The raven king approaches.
I refuse to part my lips any more than is required
to whisper to him that most lonely place where last I saw you.

I swallow what he bore me in his throat,
hear him speak your coordinates to his command,
slip into unconsciousness just as he dispatches
a company of black-feathered nurses
to apply their ministrations to you.