Poem: Diptych

 

Diptych

 

owls once fluttered as moths,

a coo and dance with bats,

thick over cougared foothills,

grape and lime in their eyes.

cricket accompanists

orchestrated coyotes

who yowled young fugues.

quite the savor of sunset-ember

prophecy.

only one owl now,

henry-the-eighth chest,

disdainful of human advances,

fluid in its branches of castle,

this duke of a somber forest,

hunkered somewhere up a sawmilled trail,

covert under sapphire skies 

smoggy with fragments,

canopied to hide.

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8/26 pffft

9/4/25

6/2 ... cosmetic mods

1/28/24  ... mods

....   "sawmilled" replaces "sawed"