He was close enough
I could see his armature, his chest
like finely layered lace,
his feathers like ligature
on sheet music.

I couldn’t imagine his weight,
but his presence had weight.
He looked at me with just one eye
small and marbled.
A yearning, a missing?

Above him the clouds breathed,
tumbled, broke. The sun spun
in the sky. Still he stayed
on the railing,
eye to eye with me.

It was twilight when he turned
his head, lifted his wide wings.
I was still watching him
as he became a star out there
in the darkening sky.

Published by Dime Show Review in 2017 at http://www.dimeshowreview.com/the-hawk-by-sharon-h-smith/