The long summer nights want to
hold me, loosened wings
in the cooling air. Standing
between grass and trees, I
resist such comfort.
I want something, I
don't know what.
I walk down into the tree
shadows, colder still and look up to
a great horned owl flying,
flawlessly tilting through twisted,
high branches.
I want to be that,
luminous light; seconds of
poured out measures
of day sun and twilight
on the owls'
smooth feathered wings.
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