A raven was born, and wounded, and lived for a short time in this world.
He was taken at night by an animal. He could offer no defense. I knew straightaway where to go. I found his severed head at the base of towering redwood tree.
Poe, I write this to you.
I am so sorry I was the cause of your destruction. You believed in me and I kept screwing it up. You did your best and I was the one who pulled the football away.
I don’t know where a raven’s spirit goes when it dies. But I want you to find it within you a way to forgive. But forgiveness may only be in the province of humans, an unnecessary convention unsuited to the ways of birds. I can listen for you and your own. I can assign meaning. It’s only an assignation, but it’s all I know how to do.
And in the end, what all do you care for my mortal shit? You’re birds. You do your justice and sup on the departed.