Four Days of a Hawk in Woburn Forest
On Monday,
a falcon took a pigeon
who was lost
in its own little snowstorm.
On Tuesday,
we discovered the falcon
was a hawk.
On Wednesday,
the hawk fell fast on a rat,
its eye and tooth and bone
quenched no appetite.
On Thursday,
the hawk swung a single arc,
and straddled a happy little rabbit
on the hill.
That same afternoon
the hawk fell a blackbird
whose flute played
just one last tune.
This morning,
we found a hawk in the ditch,
its flame quenched,
its light gone out.
Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.
It's Still Life 
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