Author’s Note

Some dreams begin in darkness, but not all darkness is empty. Sometimes, the things we recognize by instinct—ravens calling, roses blooming, the pull of the tide, the quiet presence of the moon—become the only landmarks we need.

This poem wanders through an abyss where absence becomes invitation, where questions lead deeper than answers, and where the familiar waits beyond the silence. It is a journey through the spaces between fear and comfort, memory and discovery, nothingness and belonging.

And perhaps the moon was never truly missing. Perhaps some forms of light simply require us to keep walking until we’re ready to see them.

— Rowan Evans

When the Moon Answered the Ravens
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I had a dream last night—

a line I’ve written too many times,
but this one was different—

there was no moon, no tide—
no shoreline—it was pitch black,
an abyss—just me and nothingness.

Then I heard the raven’s calls—
and it didn’t feel bizarre at all.

It felt oddly—

calming—

I stumbled further into the dark,
listening to raven after raven call—
it was weird, this unkindness
didn’t feel very unkind at all—
I tripped on something,
which was odd—
because there was nothing
to trip on.

I fell—

hit the ground—

the ravens didn’t make a sound.

Slowly, I rose to my feet—
surprised to see, a rose at my feet.
Illuminated by a single sliver
of silver light—
it caught my eye,
so I knelt down—

as my eyes scanned
the surrounding abyss—

I saw them.

Roses,
a dozen of them—
each lit by its own sliver
of dedicated lunar light—
which told me,
it was night—

but something didn’t feel right—
where was the moon at?

What was the source of this light?

The questions didn’t stop me—
I kept walking—moving further,
deeper into the abyss—
when suddenly the taste of salt
hit my lips—
and the ground begin to shift,
it moved like waves—

now I couldn’t stop,
something was pulling me—
something I couldn’t see,
but could feel it—
a thread tied to my heart,
pulling me along.

It was guiding me—
but at the same time,
there was something
pushing me—
and I dropped a hint
five lines back—

what could that be?

And as I let the thread
pull me along—
I began to notice
the light—

an image trembling—

it was shimmering,
across the top of the abyss—
eyes lifted, I saw it,
the thing I missed—
hanging high above,
it was my favorite witness—
the one I could always sit with.

Finally—

after what felt like
an eternity of silence—
the ravens started
to speak again—

and the moon
answered them—

that’s when the world came alive.
I could hear the ocean waves,
feel the mist on my face—
taste the salt on my lips,
ocean kissed—

the smell of roses
perfumed the air—
it’s like the world
suddenly became aware
that I was even there—

I was on my knees,
watching the waves—

smile on my face—

because in the back of my mind,
I knew…

the moon would never abandon—
the tide would never
refuse to guide—
the ravens
would never leave my side,
while everything I feel—

an ocean deep, an ocean wide—

the roses grow in a garden shaped by
all the beauty and pain in my life.

Journey into the Hexverse

[You Still Pop Into My Brain]
Sometimes, someone from your past still wanders into your thoughts—not because you want them back, but because they once held a place in your everyday life. A reflective poem about disappointment, growth, and the strange persistence of memory after moving on.

[Louder Than the Rain]
A short confessional poem about the overwhelming noise of anxious thoughts, the strange silence of feeling alone in a crowded room, and finding a way to translate pain into words.

[Let Me Be Pacific]
A lyrical poem about sitting beside the Pacific Ocean and discovering that an enormous body of water can become a bridge between distant hearts. Through ocean imagery, wordplay, and reflections on California and the Philippines, Let Me Be Pacific explores how love and poetry can cross even the greatest distances.

If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]