Poem: A Hawk

 

 A Hawk

 

a hawk

reminds me that the wind swirls ashes to moths,

when its talons carry my haughty treasures

off toward a slice of crimson sun.

 

the spider of my sins, aghast in its sticky net,

glowers at the dark slash of the wings,

which part the dusk into a finality

of future or past,

 

the flight of this bird, i imagine,

as unforgiving as the beak of a sphinx,

on a trajectory so molten

it is the birth of the Earth itself--

 

and thus beyond the scope of vision,

immune to my petty contemplations

and their stolen comforts,

so dark.

 

 

 

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 7/6.. mods