No Long Song

​

The art of writing and drawing

in books hovers on a fine edge

between subversion and a gesture of honor.
 

When the hawk comes out to prey

the sparrow, juncos, and jay

sit in the shadow of the leaves

and the wind through the trees

is the morning’s only sound

while the dove feeds on the ground

on refuse and spilled seed

and then at blinding speed

the attack from above

the crushing of this dove

leaving feathers, blood, and gore

and the desire for more. And more.

Sources