A partial reconstruction of a fairly recently posted poem.

SUPERSTITIONS

Across my godless sky
a magpie skids,
a barcode flash,
trailing misfortune.

I paint a cross
onto the air.
And then that night
it’s the full moon

bagged in clouds
swollen with snow.
I must drop
three wishes into

her milk-heart
before the clouds
hustle her away.
In a last heartbeat

of light, I invest
a trio of dreams.
But silently, as if
to confound negotiation,

snow fills the bowl
of the universe,
the sky falls to meet
the rising earth

and the seams
are drawn. White
darkness, a breast
of feathers.  Without

my lodestars, compass
spinning, this sailor
must dead-reckon
his course alone.

pic from: http://www.druidry.org/obod/lore/images/MagpieLand_lg.jpg