Field of Vision
I drove the seven crows away, the hawk
Beset and bloodied--just my shouting scared
Off two, the other scattered by a round
Of snowballs aimed their way. I called to him
I couldn't be there every time there's trouble.
He pulled his ruffled feathers in, ignored
My call -- aloof I thought--but then what proud
Sailor of the skies would recognize
Such a lowly creature that couldn't fly.
He seemed to know the majesty we see
In hawks, the graceful flight with hunter's skills,
Vision we can hardly comprehend.
And today he rested on the split-rail fence
Along the drive, six feet from where I'd walk,
Motionless in spite of my approach.
I spoke to him and felt a bond arise,
Wondered if he'd sensed my help that day.
Wondered if these spinning thoughts were just
Anthropomorphic chatter. The hawk
Of course, stayed mute--then turned his head away,
Stared out over the vast field of white.
--first published in The Carriage House Poetry Series 10th Anniversary Anthology, 2008