Goshawk
Faster than thought,
His retracting pupil checks, stirs,
The yellow eye sees, movement, caught.
Folds wings fleeting, speeds between trees,
glides, with the grace of a dancer
in a silent world.
Unqualified precision, cold.
The beauty of hunger, propelled
sleekly, through a funnel of air
brushed by light feather sweeping down,
down to the ground.
Into the chasm, small and grey
Mouse, taken, shaken and consumed,
Warm blood, now prey.
Donna Marie Beck
Wed 12th Aug 2009 11:09
i love birds, and the line 'the beauty of hunger,propelled' is spot on.