Her Wings in My Sky

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