On Writing and Raptors

The animal waits;
a god
a bowl
a wind
a sigh.
It contradicts
breaks through
reveals
denies.

The hanging hawk is calling high.
A neutral sky
hides an upper plane.
The mate is wheeling
keeping company as she
cries suspended
in a search for something
wanted but unknown:
a meal
a child
a home
to farther fly.

Below, the work continues;
quietly, doggedly pursuing only
the requirements of this moment,
deliberately not waiting,
not looking,
unable not to hope.

The animal watches. When
will its caution subside, when
will it show itself, allow
the page to capture it;
and when will the hawks
be given their desire?

August 19 2010