She circled high, the hawk above,
Eyes on things we can’t name—
Not control, not fear, not even love,
But the space beyond the frame.
Down here, I hold my wife’s warm hand,
Fold laundry, stir the pot,
Yet in her eyes, I understand
The infinite we forgot.
The hawk does not beg time to stay,
Nor asks the sky for why—
She simply rides the wind\'s own way,
A speck in boundless sky.
And so I learn to let things be,
To kiss without a need,
To love not out of fear to flee,
But joy in watching her freed.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf