The hawk on the thin Ash branch
and me, lucky enough to
pass running, underneath. A look
became...Oh, its you,
reached out and me looking upward,
at this face looking down, then the
turning, as if called and the flight;
a slow bank up and the spotted
beauty of soft brown and whites.
Known. Not one of them, not
to be afraid of. This is what I want
to be when we share land
with animals. Not
entirely trusted, not entirely
not trusted. Known. Oh, its you.
It was enough to go home
and first, define Known
means feel certain about,
have experience of. Hawk is
an old word, before 12th
century and mine
was a Sharp shinned hawk,
a juvenile named for bare legs.
What I want to remember is this
imprinted series of images
starting with eyes meeting mine
A middle, of back turning beauty
into a silent away. How a series
of images, one meeting
changes me.
And the end is, I
didn't know, I needed more
of that and less
of the us, with our
city stare eyes.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
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