Common, hidden
hunted by snakes
and large birds of prey
my grief escapes
in scurrying spirals
tucks deep in a
Poplar crevasse and
in the dark, deep at night
she sees the
shape of hidden things
with huge nocturnal eyes
looks and looks
before she leaps
she trusts the mechanics
of her outstretched arms
the inevitability of
her touchdowns.
Widely distributed,
Maine to California
Texas to Minnesota,
She is never alone.
In forests and snags
where she makes a home
my grief is partial to abandoned
dwellings: the bluebird box,
last year’s robin’s nest,
she takes great comfort there
in her borrowed bed
with others,
keeping warm.
My grief is grey-brown,
has belly fur – greying to white
She glides between trees,
not so much powered for flight
She launches from heights,
steers with a feathered tail
her flailing appendages
and frequently,
comes out of nowhere,
mistress of stealth landings,
she sticks.
Early Morning Poems 