Poem: Diptych

 

Diptych

 

once, owls fluttered as moths,

a coo and dance with bats,

thick over cougared foothills,

the colors of grapes and limes in their eyes.

cricket accompanists

orchestrated coyotes

who yowled young fugues,

sunset in the embers of their prophesy.

 

now, only one owl,

henry-the-eighth chest,

disdainful of human advances,

fluid in its castle of branches,

this duke of somber forest,

somewhere up a sawmilled trail

sapphire with smoggy fragments,

canopied to hide.

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1/28/24  ... mods

....   "sawmilled" replaces "sawed"