Taylor Graham One Small Paw Print for Raven Her ears were wings unfolding as for flight when she was old enough—tired of earth, its life, its unquenched yearning after light. So close she still was to her fact of birth. We loved her promise of ancestral heart, her mother’s yen for wandering. And yet, herself was mystery, an unplotted start. We’d read it in her eyes of glister-jet. What could she know, still bumble-legs, a pup achieving balance on the stairs, and game to try the next adventure, head-tilt up— each morning new and nothing quite the same— We saw her leave us, looking straight ahead, ears like wings as out of sight they led.
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