the hawk rides the line
between love and death
air life and fire talons
a knife, a winged
daydream, nightmare
memory and red hope
warmth and burning. it kills
the small fragile things
you want to hold onto
but can’t forget and yet
it is freedom gift
wing-lift, singing
in the pines–
and you can’t help
but be savagely grateful.
– 2/6