Where the pine shades the window,
the red-tailed hawk lands, peers inward.
Its shadow stretches across the pane,
a fleeting terror for smaller wings,
ravens flinch and mourning doves vanish,
everyone scatters, their fear almost scent.
The hawk should pulse with hunger,
its talons keen as the knife drawer,
yet behind my veil of glass and breath,
it watches me, my still frame framed.
The house grows quiet, just hawk and me,
the air held taut like string, unplucked.
And then the wings unfurl, departure sudden,
a curtain ripped, a scene blasted wide.
In its leaving, it leaves me shattered—
a hawk's vision sees what it must,
what I obscure or don't mean to hold.
I think it saw more than my reflection.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 18th, 2025 03:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments2
Very nicely done this poem speaks of vision that goes beyond what most see. The hawk my represent a deeper penetrating eye, a conscience even. Nicely done
Thanks Soren I always appreciate your feedback and support
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