Ravens

Trailing my hand

along the barren cliff,

the dirt crumbles under my fingers

in this desert valley wasteland.

Sitting on a rock

the wind whistles through the canyon,

echoing in the silence

ricocheting off my loneliness.

Night grows long

the moon a cold and pale friend,

rising in relentless heat,

the sun then beats me down.

Waiting in this place

faithfulness remembered,

every need is meet

as ravens bring me bread.