“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Sky stalker
He was close
atop the next door
roofline,
two doors and eight windows away,
I can feel him
not caring
but staring
at me
clearly
cocking his head
and aiming his
attention my way.
I return his gaze
between two crows feet
I squint
and am unable to define
where wing
and feather divide
like the wind
no where
Now
how he can soar
based on feeling
a passing breeze
across his breast
plate
I maintain my ground
feeling anchored
under air
the predator holds its breath
while the raptor releases
a piercing scream
before
he takes flight
giving one more glance
downward
I stay affixed
under this eave
awaiting a closure
of wing, sky
and the hungry eye.
Painting by Edwin Henry Landseer, 'The falcon' c. 2837 in Public domain.
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